


Stuck On The Puzzle

by fromtheclouds



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: After Game, Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Androids, Connor Deserves Happiness, Detectives, Detroit Police Department (Detroit: Become Human), Developing Friendships, Deviancy (Detroit: Become Human), Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Future, Game Events, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), Other, POV Multiple, Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Politics, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Red Ice (Detroit: Become Human), Self-Acceptance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Strained Relationships, Takes Place During Game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2020-03-05 23:16:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 60,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18838792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromtheclouds/pseuds/fromtheclouds
Summary: Once a revered detective amongst the DPD's force, Detective Barbara Martin has spent the last years fearing that her greatest accomplishments are behind her, until she is paced on the deviant investigation alongside Hank Anderson and Connor.After the android revolution and the evacuation of Detroit, Jericho struggles to negotiate with an aloof U.S. Government, as Connor comes to terms with his past and purpose.Crime spikes in the all-but-abandoned city, and the DPD must send their forces to investigate a string of murders as a new population desperate for justice emerges on humanity’s horizon.(Takes place during and after game events, multi-POV, more in-depth summary located within).





	1. 1 | Mission

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Detroit: Become Human or any of its characters.  
> [Fic Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLvB0pQ_9KkzKIWFSUZ42ZOK7dSM68UcIg) || My [tumblr](https://from-the-clouds.tumblr.com) as well!
> 
> Please read:
> 
> I know, I'm about a year late to this party. I've been going through it lately and have found an outlet while writing this. I haven't written anything of substance in awhile, but watching playthroughs of this game got me inspired.
> 
> The first 10-ish chapters will cover the events in the game, I tried to make it interesting by changing the timeline a little and adding in scenes here or there, plus offering different POVs. Eventually we'll get to a post-game event period and then comes a much more original storyline which I hope you like! I think the Post-Pacifist Game Ending (which is the general direction of where this will head) was a little abrupt and I have an interpretation of how things play out after, but I needed to incorporate my OC in a believable way before jumping straight into it. 
> 
> While my OC definitely has her own traits/qualities/backstory, etc., I've tried to leave her physical description vague, because as a reader, I always like to come up with my own interpretations of how main characters look. I also know that the "X Reader" style of fics is much more popular nowadays, but I am such a character-based writer, I had to give her a name and backstory & her own motivations.
> 
> Putting this together, I've been constantly torn between thinking this is the best thing I've ever written and then in the same second, thinking it's just garbage. I have a ton of it written out already, and the rest of it mostly planned, but was hesitant to share anything right away. After thinking on it for awhile, I decided I wanted to share this with you in the hopes you enjoy it. So if you do, let me know!

**CHAPTER 1: MISSION**

**NOVEMBER 1, 2038**

**9:01AM**

_Locate Lieutenant Anderson's desk._

**Connor** entered the Detroit Police Department precinct, which was a large open space filled with trios of desks bustling with officers. On the far side of the room was a large glass office overlooking the department. _Captain Fowler_. He examined the displayed name on the side of the office. After the homicide and interrogation the previous evening, he'd done some research about Lieutenant Anderson and the DPD, and he felt prepared for his first official day on the investigation.

He couldn’t anticipate what kind of mood the Lieutenant would be in. They'd gotten off to a rocky start when Connor had all-but dragged him out of Jimmy's Bar the evening before. Lieutenant Anderson clearly enjoyed drinking, to an extent that was likely unhealthy. Maybe it was the result of past trauma, but as of right now, that wasn't any of his business. Connor had one mission: to figure out why the rates of deviancy had spiked in recent months and report his findings back to CyberLife. Lieutenant Anderson's personality and dislike for him wasn't something he'd expected, and definitely was a bit of a fissure in the investigation thus far. Connor would try to bridge the gap, especially if it hindered him from completing the mission. But if it didn’t, it seemed futile to pursue a relationship.

Employees milled about, chatting with one another after the weekend, and settled into their desks with cups of coffee or tea. He scanned the tags on each desk until he finally found the one marked _Lieutenant Anderson_.

The woman at the front desk had warned him that the lieutenant was typically late, so he took the extra time to examine the desk, scanning several newspaper articles pinned to a cork-board, finding some useful information. Photos of a much younger Hank Anderson were amongst them, including career highlights; a successful takedown of a Red Ice dealer, being promoted as the youngest lieutenant for the Detroit Police Department. Connor had learned that he’d been quite successful in his heyday. But the android’s experience with him the previous evening hadn't done much to demonstrate his aptitude.

On his chair were hairs from a Saint Bernard, most likely transported via his clothing. He had a dog. Connor sat down at his desk chair, examining a cold cup of coffee that must have been left from the previous week, and a box of stale donuts. Directly across from his desk was another, but before he could read the name on the placard, a flash of motion out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

A woman approached, had her head bowed as she scanned a folder in her hand, eyes focused as she absentmindedly sipped from a mug of coffee and paid no attention to the people weaving around her. If she stumbled, or bumped into anything, she'd be likely to supply first degree burns to herself or one of her coworkers. However, when she glanced up and her eyes briefly registered Connor's presence, she lowered the folder and regarded him.

"Can I help you?" she asked, placing the folder down. He could see her face clearly enough now to identify her.

_Martin, Barbara_

_Born: 8/19/2011 // Detective_

_Criminal Record: Disorderly conduct_

Connor observed her. Clipped back in a half-up, half-down style, her hair fell well past her shoulders, but shorter pieces framed her face and fell in her eyes. He noticed a pen tucked behind her ear.

"My name is Connor, I'm the android sent by Cyberlife."

"Right," she nodded. It appeared she'd adapted to the office's more casual style of dressing, as she pushed up the sleeve of the thick red wool sweater she wore. "Detective Barbara Martin," she extended a hand. "I'm also a partner in the investigation."

He shook her hand, registering her firm and steady grip before she pulled away, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, and sat down at the desk across from him. "I wasn't made aware Lieutenant Anderson had a partner," he said.

"I just got assigned to the case," she answered, and gave him a decided appraisal, eyes examining his face and his uniform. "But I've worked with him on several cases before."

Connor didn't respond verbally, but nodded as he processed the information. _Dis_ _orderly conduct?_ He knew that charge could mean many things, but part of him wanted to inquire about it. If he was going to be working alongside someone who may have an unpredictable temperament, he wanted to be aware of the nature of the crime she'd committed, and whether or not those actions would interfere with his investigation.

"If you're waiting for Hank, I'd expect it to be another hour or so," she broke him out of his reverie. "He's not exactly known for punctuality."

Based on his interactions with Lieutenant Anderson, he deemed it best not to ask her about her criminal record now. Previous experiences told him it wouldn't exactly set him off on the right foot. Of course, he wasn't here to make friends, but it might be a more pleasant experience to complete his mission without his two partners both disliking him, and he already wasn't off to a good start with one.

Detective Martin seemed calm and focused, her eyes on a paper next to the computer on her desk. There was an aloof, determined air about her, and she didn’t strike him as particularly friendly.

The phone on Lieutenant Anderson's desk rang loudly, shrill and unpleasant. Once, twice, until Detective Martin's hand reached out to pick it up. "Lieutenant Anderson's office," she spoke, pausing for the person on the other end to answer. "He's unavailable right now, but I can take a message for you...." she nodded. "Great. I'll let him know you called," she put the phone down.

Grabbing a pen, she scribbled down a note on a scrap of paper and stuck it on her desk before attending to her emails. "You were at the house last night where they found the android in the attic?" she asked, glancing up at him from the side of her computer.

Connor nodded. "Yes, I was. Not much came of the interrogation."

"So I heard," she answered, seeming to ponder for a moment. Connor briefly wondered how much Lieutenant Anderson had told her. "I was looking through the case file, at photos of the bathroom in the house where Ortiz was killed. It looked like some kind of religious ritual had been set up in the shower. I wasn't able to match up the statuette to any specific religion, and I have no idea what rA9 means."

“We were trying to figure that out as well,” Connor processed her input, though there wasn't much to take in. None of the evidence from the homicide was coming together in a helpful way, and he felt partially responsible for the failed interrogation that had ended with the deviant shooting itself.

Detective Martin glanced behind Connor and nodded at someone approaching. "Morning Hank," she greeted, and he turned around to face the man he'd met the day before.

"It's good to see you again, Lieutenant," Connor stood from his desk and turned, opting for a friendly greeting.

The lieutenant looked dejected, and rolled his eyes at the sight of Connor. "Oh, fuck me."

"I got to play assistant for you," Detective Martin said, her voice flat with a twinge of annoyance. "Someone named Andy Noltan called," she lifted the piece of paper where she'd scribbled down the note, and he took it from between her fingers, looking it over briefly before tearing it up and throwing it in the trash. She watched him closely, eyes narrowing, but said nothing.

"So I see the two of you have gotten acquainted," he said gruffly, and looked between Detective Martin and Connor.

Before either of them could answer, Captain Fowler called from his office. "Hank, Martin. In my office!" he boomed, assertive. A few employees turned to look at the officers in question.

Connor followed along to listen in, feeling that it would be more useful than to exploring the rest of the office, for now. Detective Martin sat in the empty chair across from the captain, next to Lieutenant Anderson, a notepad in her lap, balancing a pen between her fingers. She leaned back in the chair.

"Every day I’m getting more and more cases that have to do with androids," Captain Fowler said, looking at his computer. “Normally, they aren’t anything more than disappearances, or minor malfunctions that resulted in property damages.”

"But they’re becoming increasingly more and more violent, like the homicide last night. CyberLife can’t keep trying to cover these things up. It's a criminal investigation, and we've got to figure out what’s going on before all hell breaks loose. I want the both of you to get to the bottom of this, find any common denominators between the cases," he nodded at the two of them, with a brief glance to Connor, one that was more bregruding than a real acknowledgement.

This didn't seem to please Lieutenant Anderson, who groaned loudly. "Why me?" he challenged, leaning forward. "I’m the last cop you want investigating this case. I know jack shit about androids, Jeffrey, I can barely change the ringtone on my cell phone."

"Every cop in this precinct is overwhelmed," Fowler shot back. "You’re no less qualified for this than the rest of them. With Martin alongside you, it should be a cakewalk. The two of you work well together."

Detective Martin glanced over at him at the mention of her name, but he ignored her and she crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair.

"Bullshit!" Lieutenant Anderson said. "The only reason you have me doing this is because no one else wants to. You’d think at my rank and after all these years, I’d have some type of say in the cases I’m assigned to," He stood up, shaking his head and turning away from the captain, almost like he was going to leave the room.

Fowler was clearly familiar with this type of behavior from Lieutenant Anderson, and continued on. "CyberLife sent over this android to help with the case. It's a state-of-the-art prototype, it'll act as your partner."

"I'm fine with Barbara as my partner, but I don’t need any help from this plastic piece of shit!" Lieutenant Anderson wheeled around to face Fowler, but jabbed his finger towards Connor.

Detective Martin was watching with her arms crossed over her chest, her head turned enough so that he could make out her expression, which was blank. This confirmed that this was either common conduct for the Lieutenant, or she wasn't interested. Perhaps it was a little bit of both.

"Hank," Fowler raised his voice. "That’s enough. You're a police lieutenant, you're supposed to do what I say and shut your goddamn mouth."

"You know what my goddamn mouth has to say-" Lieutenant Anderson began, and Detective Martin's jaw dropped, her eyes widening as they flickered between her partner and captain.

"Alright," Fowler interrupted. "Let me pretend I didn’t just hear that, so I don't have to add anymore letters to your file, since it’s already as long as a fuckin’ book!"

He tried a different approach then, leaning forward and lowering his voice, as if Connor couldn't hear him. "Jeffrey, Jesus Christ. Why _me_ ? You _know_ how much I hate these fuckin' things. Can't you just leave Barbara on the case and put me somewhere else?" he tilted his head towards her, who still stayed silent as she watched the argument unfold.

"I’m not putting Martin on this case alone, it’s too much for one person to take on," Fowler answered, ignoring his pleas.

“She can handle it-”

“Hank!” Fowler cut him off. “One more word out of your mouth or I’ll take that badge out of your hand and hire someone who _wants_ to be here. Now get out of out of my office, I’ve got work to do, and so do you.”

Lieutenant Anderson groaned and then stormed out, slamming the door so hard behind him it rattled. Detective Martin sighed, shaking her head as she stood up to leave, her notepad and pen in hand. As she turned her back, Fowler spoke up. "And Martin? If he gives you a hard time, you let me know."

"Of course," she turned over her shoulder at the captain and nodded. "Thanks."

Briefly, she looked over at Connor before exiting the office and following after Lieutenant Anderson. Standing alone now, he wasn't quite sure what to say to the Captain who now seemed focused on his computer. "I'm very pleased to have joined the team. I can assure you I'll do my very best."

"Close the door on your way out," Fowler said flatly, not looking up.

Connor did as he was told and had no choice but to return to Lieutenant Anderson's desk. Detective Martin was standing beside her desk across from him, in conversation with a blonde-haired man who looked about her age. Connor scanned his face.

_Walter, James_

_Born: 1/27/2010 // Police Officer_

_Criminal record: None_

Lieutenant Anderson had his head in his hands, and Connor decided to give him time to cool down and explore the rest of the office before he approached the man again. He entered the break room, which was mostly vacant, but before he could observe anything he heard a voice from behind him.

"What the hell is this?" the tone was sarcastic, but familiar, and he turned slowly to find Detective Reed, who he'd met the evening before, leaned over a table with a cup of coffee. A woman, who Connor identified as Officer Tina Chen, sat next to him in uniform.

"It looks like the plastic detective is back in town." Detective Reed clapped sarcastically, egged on by Officer Chen, who giggled next to him.

Connor glanced at him, unsure of how to respond to the man that clearly didn't care for him. He wasn't surprised, as most humans didn’t like androids, but there was something more malicious in the way that he was speaking.

"Hello, Detective Reed," he responded, assuming that a pleasant response would maybe change his attitude. "My name is Connor."

Pushing himself away from the table, the detective took a few steps forward, looking Connor up and down. "What model are you? Never seen an android like you before...." The question caught him off guard, curiosity instead of callousness.

"RK800," Connor answered, looking down at the man. "I'm a prototype."

"A prototype." Detective Reed snorted, glancing back at the woman who sat drinking her coffee. "Android detective." Turning back to Gavin, he frowned. "So machines are just going to replace us all, is that it?"

Connor didn't respond, partly because he felt that any answer wouldn't be acceptable to the irritated man.

"Hey, dipshit, bring me a coffee," he ordered, expectant. When Connor didn't move, he spoke again. "Come on, let’s go!"

Connor chose to ignore him again, knowing it wasn't in his best interest to defend himself. But he also wasn't programmed to serve humans the way some other androids were.

“Are you defective or something? I gave you an order!" Detective Reed raised his voice.

"I'm sorry, I only take orders from Lieutenant Anderson," Connor replied calmly, hoping the situation would diffuse and wouldn't cause a scene. However, his response only served to enrage Detective Reed more, who wound up his arm and punched him in the stomach.

Falling to his knees, Connor reached out to steady himself with his hands, knocked off balance by the punch. Detective Reed leaned over him, crouching slightly to growl in his ear. "When a human gives you an order, you obey, got it?"

Connor looked up briefly at the man. "Stay out of my way. Next time, you won't get off so easy," Detective Reed straightened up, jabbing two fingers sharply against his forehead, casting Connor's eyes back down to the clean tiled floor. The grouchy detective left the room with Officer Chen.

Standing up, Connor brushed off the altercation and tuned in to the news broadcast happening on the large break room TV, adjusting his tie. The anchor was discussing CyberLife, and their creation of a new police detective prototype. They were talking about _him_. He was sure that wasn't going to help public opinion, the people who were already concerned that androids were taking jobs away. It'd been a growing issue since androids were first introduced, but with the use of them so widespread, public interest was high.

Connor would have listened in to the rest of the broadcast, but he felt like it might be a better idea to check in on Lieutenant Anderson, since he’d given him several minutes to cool off. He trekked back to his desk, where the man was glowering alone. Officer Walter, who'd been talking to Detective Martin had disappeared, and she now sat typing at her computer, while Lieutenant Anderson had his head in his hands.

He groaned as he saw Connor approaching, but didn't say anything. Detective Martin's eyes flickered from her computer and nodded at Connor, but concentrated back on her work without saying a word.

"Listen, I know you don't care for androids," Connor began, directing his efforts at the lieutenant, hoping to reason with him. "But we'll have to work together to solve this case."

The man groaned, and looked between Connor and Detective Martin, who seemed enthralled in whatever work she was doing at her computer, eyes determined and focused, though he could tell by the slight scowl on her face that she was irritated. Hopefully it wasn't by him, or else he'd have two partners to win over.

"Jesus Christ, Barbara, do you wanna help me out a little bit here?" he finally said, refusing to answer Connor.

Ignoring him, Detective Martin continued to work, almost as though if she ignored the situation unfolding in front of her, it would go away.

"Hey kid," Lieutenant Anderson leaned forward, slamming a palm on his desk. "I know you can fucking hear me."

Straightening up, she closed her eyes and inhaled sharply through her nose, looking at her lieutenant, then up to Connor, than back to her lieutenant. "What do you want?" she asked.

"I want to know what you think of this bullshit," he leaned forward, one hand gesturing wildly towards Connor’s general direction, his voice grating.

"Hank," she began. "Do you want me to be honest?" she asked, and he nodded before continuing. "I think you're being overdramatic," she stated flatly.

He leaned back in his chair and groaned, head in his hands. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"You asked my opinion, look at yourself," she held her palm out in his direction. "I don't understand what the big deal is. Sometimes you have to work on cases that you don't want to, sometimes you have to work with people you don't want to."

"Very respectful, Babs, why would I expect anything else from you?" The lieutenant’s voice was laced with sarcasm and warning, but it didn't stop Detective Martin from continuing.

"If you wanted me to tell you what you wanted to hear, then you asked the wrong person. You should know that," she said, matter-of-factly. "We're all going to have to work together, and I have a low threshold for how long I'll listen to you complain about it." she gestured towards Connor and herself. "Some of us can't afford to be so entitled."

Connor was surprised at her blunt response, considering that he was technically her superior officer. It appeared they had a closer relationship than he originally assumed, but it seemed somewhat strained.

Hank didn't respond, defeated, and instead just glowered at Barbara across from him. Connor tried to think of another way to approach the conversation, breaking the silence. ".....Is there a desk I could use?" He asked, deciding that changing the subject might work better. When Lieutenant Anderson didn't answer, Detective Martin spoke up.

"No one uses this one-" she pointed to remaining desk in the trio. "You can sit there."

Connor nodded, and took a seat as she directed her attention back to work. She stretched absentmindedly, rested her chin on her fist as she scrolled with the other hand. Even though he'd been initially concerned about her criminal record, she was the most measured person he'd interacted with so far today. It seemed unlikely at the moment that she'd negatively impact the investigation.

Lieutenant Anderson, on the other hand, seemed like he could be a potential burden. Connor hoped that with time he could determine a better way to get to know him. If not, it didn’t matter, as long as he was able to complete his mission. That was his only priority.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think. I know this chapter isn't the most thrilling, and is pretty similar to the game, but things will take off, I promise!
> 
> I always write while listening to music, so feel free to check out my [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLvB0pQ_9KkzKIWFSUZ42ZOK7dSM68UcIg). And come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://from-the-clouds.tumblr.com) as well!


	2. 2 | Apathy

**CHAPTER 2 | APATHY**

**NOVEMBER 2, 2038**

**8:33AM**

**Barbara** jammed her dirty gym clothes in a duffel bag, which she placed carefully in an open locker while she slung her work bag over her shoulder. Punching in the code to lock it, she ran her fingers through her hair and made sure she had everything she needed before she headed upstairs to the precinct.

She was frazzled. While she never really knew what to expect day-to-day as a detective, the day before had pushed her out of her comfort zone.

Yesterday had been her first day on a new assignment, and she'd spent it reviewing files to get up to speed on the issue. So far, she’d been unable to come up with a logical conclusion as to why so many CyberLife androids were becoming deviant.

CyberLife suggested that deviancy was the result of a code error, but if it was really that simple, she was curious as to why the DPD had any type of involvement. Then again, she supposed they had no choice but to be involved, since many deviant androids had turned to violence against humans. She figured that was why CyberLife had sent their own prototype to assist them with the investigation, to clean up a mess they had created and cover their asses.

To her, the addition of Connor to their team seemed a little ironic. CyberLife wouldn’t get great press from any of this if a journalist snooped around enough to find the case files. Lucky for them, the papers had enough on their hands right now between foreign conflicts and the Red Ice epidemic.

Barbara didn’t know much about the inner workings of CyberLife's androids, so she was partly confused as to why Fowler had put her on the case. Any extended interactions she’d had with androids were during her late teens, and they’d become much more advanced and widespread since then. Technology progressed so quickly that newer models lost value within a couple months of their release, and another, more sophisticated design would take its place.

However, maybe the investigation would be a nice reprieve from the redundancy of the Red Ice Task Force she’d endured for the past year or so. Unlike Hank, she wasn’t going to complain.

The DPD's gym was in the basement of their building, so she took the elevator up to her floor, weaving among the few employees who had already arrived until she got to her department, slinging her coat and bag over the back of her desk chair.

Barbara was usually at work before the rest of her coworkers, even if it was only fifteen minutes, which she did on purpose. Today, she was a bit earlier than normal, about a half an hour. It gave her some time to read the news and warm up a bit before she had to deal with any real assignments. Or people. Barbara was many things, but she wasn’t a morning person.

There were times she wished she was a fresh-faced rookie again, determined to bring justice to all in what she believed was a fair world. Oh, how naive she'd been, to believe that it could be so simple, so measured. It made her smile now, in a bitter, seasoned kind of way; but she did miss the blissful feeling of hopefulness that had spurred her into this career path in the first place. Now every morning she had to give herself a pep-talk, convince herself over and over that this was what she was supposed to be doing, this was the path she was made for. Each day she managed to do the exact opposite, but at least she was too afraid to try and find anything else.

_I'm here to make a difference._ The mantra she murmured to herself when times got tough meant less and less each time she repeated it.

This morning, she wasn't alone. Already sitting next to her at his desk was Connor. His existence had already sent Hank into a hissy fit during their debrief with Fowler, and then again after when Connor attempted to make amends. She'd been acquainted already with the coarser side of Hank when she'd been assigned to train underneath him as a rookie, but things got better after time. Connor, on the other hand, was an android, so she wasn't sure if he would ever receive any type of pleasantries from the seasoned lieutenant. Their interactions were already laced with more hostility than her and Hank’s ever had been, so that wasn't a great forecast for the rest of their relationship. Barbara wasn't thrilled to be caught up between the two of them, even though most of the conflict had been initiated by Hank.

"Good morning, Detective Martin," Connor greeted, his voice pleasant and welcoming.

"Morning," she answered, sitting down at her desk, straightening a stack of papers that had somehow shifted overnight, likely from the cleaning services. The desk next to her, where Connor now sat, had been empty the entire time she’d been working at the DPD, so it felt strange to have someone else occupying the space.

"Do you usually arrive early to the office?" he asked after a short bout of silence as she started up her computer.

Barbara nodded, picking up the newspaper that had been left on her desk to read. "Not this early, but at least a couple minutes before everyone else. I was at the gym."

Connor nodded, continuing the conversation. "You enjoy exercising?"

Barbara shrugged. "Not exactly," she responded, and he looked at her with a question on his lips, she continued on before he asked it. "It’s just kind of….part of my job," she clarified. "I have to stay in shape." trailing off, she racked her brain. Her routine had become so mundane she couldn’t recall her justifications for making it in the first place.

Connor nodded, staring at her with his big brown eyes. They were quite expressive, for an android. Maybe it was just her being an innately observant person, but she could practically see his mind working through them, trying to get a feel for her personality, her reliability as a partner in his investigation. His _mission_. He was trying to figure her out. Despite the fact that it was probably written in his code, some hardwired command to judge her capabilities as a detective, a person, she really didn't fucking like it. Unlike Hank, she wasn’t hold it against him.

"Have you enjoyed working alongside Lieutenant Anderson?" Connor asked, and she wondered if he was asking because of how Hank lashed out yesterday, or if he was genuinely curious.

Considering his question for a moment, she was careful with how she chose her next words. "I've developed a close relationship with him over the past couple years," she said, but figured she'd be truthful with Connor, it might make him feel better. Although, he probably didn’t care one way or another. "But he can be a pain in the ass sometimes."

She was surprised to see a slight smile playing at the corner of Connor's lips, she didn't think androids could have a sense of humor. Of course, she wasn't _trying_ to be funny, she just wanted to be honest. He became serious quickly.

"I assure you I'll do my very best while working on this case," he said. “My success is imperative to the future of CyberLife, as well as the citizens of Detroit.”

"Fair enough," she answered, and sunk down slightly in her chair to stare at the newspaper, hoping that his questions would stop and she wouldn't have to talk anymore.

In general, she wasn't exactly one for making _friends_ at work. She had the few acquaintances she'd bonded with when she began at DPD as a rookie and that was it, most of them being her classmates in the police academy. Her coworkers often misinterpreted this quality of hers, thinking it contributed to her dedication as an employee, but that was an incorrect assumption. Detached from most of the world around her, Barbara had found it was futile to form any new friendships.

As a few officers began to trickle in to the office, she fell into her old routine, finishing up reading the articles she was interested in before leaving her desk to hit up the break room for a cup off coffee. Currently, she was trying to limit her caffeine intake, as it seemed to heighten her stress and anxiety, but without it, she was dead by noon. No one told her when she was younger that she'd spend her entire adult life perpetually waiting for a nap that would never happen.

When she returned to her desk, she decided it was best to delve back into the case files she'd had the chance to look through yesterday, maybe a second pass would allow her to gain some more insight or tip her off to some evidence she missed the first time around. People were now filling the office, so it was a good time to look invested in her work.

After looking through the files for about one cup of coffee, she hadn't found anything of value, and became aware of a subtle movement next to her. She was pretty good at tuning out the noise and commotion around, but when she glanced over at Connor to find him passing a coin between his hands absentmindedly, appearing deep in thought, she was a little taken aback. It seemed peculiar to her, that somewhere in his programming was this little quirk, a way to fidget that wasn't as crass as bouncing his leg or clicking a pen.

Watching the coin pass from one of his hands to the other, spinning, ricocheting was mesmerizing. Briefly, she recalled the viral video trend awhile back that involved similar hypnotizing actions, people playing with Silly Putty or cutting soap; _Things to Watch While High_. She nearly chuckled to herself, but was interrupted.

"I'm sorry, am I distracting you?" Connor asked, as he quickly pocketed the coin and she met his eyes, which were wide, almost sheepish, as if she'd caught him doing something he was embarrassed about.

"No," she said, then after a brief pause, added: "Interesting talent you have there."

It'd been a long time since she'd interacted with any androids at length, but Connor seemed much different from any that she'd ever met. He _was_ a state-of-the-art prototype, she reminded herself. But there was a distinctly human quality to him, and when he shrugged in response, as if it were nothing but a little knack he'd taught himself, nonchalantly, her brows pulled together and she narrowed her eyes slightly.

There were parts of her that were suspicious, but others that were intrigued. She supposed that was the point, right? He was designed to be amiable and trustworthy, so witnesses would feel comfortable opening up to him. However, he was certain and self-assured enough that just by raising his voice and asserting himself during an interrogation he could intimidate a suspect enough to extract a confession.

"It helps me process information. I can teach you, if you'd like," Connor said, leaning forward, placing his elbows on the desk, his hands folding together carefully.

Barbara bit her lower lip and snorted, shaking her head. "I don't think I have that kind of hand-eye coordination."

"I'm sure you'd get the hang of it," Connor said, giving her a small smile.

"Maybe another time," she said flippantly, and turned away from him. He was being a little too friendly for her liking, and realistically, she knew she had to get back to work if she wanted to accomplish anything.

Skeptically, Barbara glanced back over at Connor after she saw him shift his body back towards his computer again. There was something unsettling her and she couldn't place her finger on it. Perhaps it was how eerily well-designed he was. Occasionally, she'd thought about the engineers at CyberLife. How carefully constructed most androids were was astounding. Designing androids, in her opinion, meant capturing the essence of a human, bringing out their strengths without including the pesky conditions of being alive. Understanding her own species enough to create near replicas would be impossible for someone like her.

Hank arrived about twenty minutes later, lacking the usual uneasy sway or pallid complexion that typically indicated his position on the spectrum of being hungover or still drunk. Sometimes, he was a little bit of both. Today, he seemed sober.

"You're early," Barbara spoke, and then snorted because it was still half past eleven.

Hank grunted, swiping the grimy coffee mug off his desk and retreating to the break room. He shot Connor a dirty look for good measure, and she realized that even though he wasn't hungover, he was still upset about yesterday.

The fact that he was still acting childish about being assigned to the investigation made her miffed all over again. Barbara didn't understand why he couldn't just accept the job and move on. Instead, he had to distract her from work by pouting like a child and starting arguments. Hank had been her mentor, and there’d been times in her life she regarded him as a father figure, but that didn't make his behavior acceptable. Nowadays, she was rarely excited or passionate about any cases she worked on, and if she made her feelings as palpable as Hank's were now, she'd have been fired a long time ago.

When he returned to his desk, Barbara decided it was best to give him space until he eventually came around. However, that became difficult when almost immediately, Connor spoke up.

"Lieutenant," he began. "I feel we've gotten off on the wrong foot these last few days, and I thought it might be beneficial to wipe the slate clean and start over."

Barbara wished for a brief moment Connor would have run his attempt to make amends by her, because she could tell from his first couple sentences that he was pouring gasoline on an open flame.

Hank crossed his arms and refused to make eye contact with Connor, who spoke again.

"Perhaps we could all try to get to know each other better," Connor said. “I’ve researched several team-building activities that might be helpful in establishing healthy professional relationships.”

He looked between Hank and Barbara, offering a small, hopeful smile. Barbara couldn't help but feel a little bad for him. She knew she wasn't the warmest person, but it was hard for her to watch Hank be this pointlessly cruel.

“We’re not doing fucking icebreakers,” Hank groveled into his coffee mug.

Connor didn’t answer, and Barbara bit her lip, focusing intently on her keyboard, trying to push away the slight bit of contrition she felt. It’s not like Hank was really hurting Connor’s feelings. He didn’t _have_ feelings to hurt. There was a long bout of silence and she focused back on her work, just as a notification popped up, a new report that was to be collated in the deviant investigation case files.

Connor had failed several times to engage with Hank the day before. He’d even gone as far as citing Sumo’s hair on the back of Hank’s chair as a way to start conversation, which had Barbara self-consciously scanning her desk for any dust and debris that may have collected over the past few weeks.

_Of course_ . It made sense he'd have some feature that allowed him to examine identify microscopic details. Although, Barbara _did_ know that Hank's dog shed quite a bit from personal experience, and if she looked closely enough she could probably have seen Sumo’s hair, too.

Barbara wondered then what he could determine just from looking at her work area. She kept it clean, minimalistic. Her personal items were limited, just a single photo of herself and friends at the Grand Canyon she’d hung on the corkboard a few years back. It was a mystery to her why people would want their whole life story hanging over their desk for anyone to discover - photos of kids, family members, friends, newspaper clippings and tired motivational quotes that were ultimately meaningless. If Connor was studying these things, she was glad she’d kept it limited.

"How long have you known Captain Fowler?" Connor followed up, albeit a little tentatively, and Hank looked over his shoulder at the large glass office that overlooked the precinct. Fowler sat inside at his desk.

" _Too_ long," Hank grumbled.

"And you, Detective Martin?" Connor asked.

Barbara was so focused on observing their conversation that she didn't expect Connor to acknowledge her, but his question did make her think before she could answer. "Since the day he hired me, seven years ago."

_Seven years._ She'd never thought about it, and hearing herself say it aloud made her stomach turn. Barbara had been here closer to ten years than five, it was almost a decade. What a soul-crushing thought. Briefly she pondered how many of those years she'd been mentally checked out.

While she was having her short-lived existential crisis, Connor had turned his attention back to Hank.

"Is it typical for you to arrive at the office around this time?" Connor asked him, and Barbara raised her eyebrows. Hank being late didn't directly affect her all that much, but it certainly wasn't ideal for an efficient investigation. His tardiness had become a sort of running joke around the office over the years, so hearing Connor voice it aloud to his face was rather amusing.

"It’s none of your goddamn business," Hank answered, already on the defense. "Now are we going to continue playing twenty questions or are you going to do the job you were _made_ to do?"

That seemed to quiet Connor's attempt at a positive interaction and he focused back on his computer.

Barbara printed the report that recently came in and walked to the opposite side of the office to pick up the file at the copier. She’d usually try to conserve paper, but this gave her an excuse to remove herself from the thick tension building between Hank and Connor. Barbara thought that being forced to watch them argue may have been some sort of sick punishment Fowler was giving her for asking to be transferred from homicides a few years back.

Scanning the brief paper, Barbara frowned as she took in the information. A defective AX400 model had attacked its owner and ran off with his YK500 model. It was thought to be in the Ravendale District. To her, this seemed like a good place to start, since the paper trail they had access to currently wasn’t getting them anywhere.

Her focus was interrupted by Hank’s enraged voice coming from their trio of desks on the opposite side of the office. In the mere minutes that she’d been gone, the situation had escalated. Hank had Connor pinned against the glass wall alongside their desks, his hands fisting the lapels of the android’s CyberLife-issued jacket. Connor didn’t look particularly alarmed, but Barbara was at her wits end with Hank’s petulant behavior.

Striding towards them, report in hand, she arrived just in time to hear the end of Hank’s sentence, spoken in a low growl, his face only inches from Connor’s. The android didn’t appear to be defending himself, his hands hanging slack at his sides, his expression neutral. Maybe it was built into his protocols that he couldn’t react violently, since Hank was his superior officer. “Don’t you _dare_ tell me how to-”

"That's it," Barbara circled the desk and grabbed Hank's shoulder, pulling him away from Connor and stepping between them. "Enough!" she turned to face the indignant lieutenant.

"We get it Hank, you have an issue with androids," she took one step closer to him, voice firm but still calm, narrowing her eyes at him as she took in the scowl on his features. "Get over it. I'm not going to deal with this bullshit every damn day."

"I'm your superior officer," Hank snapped back, clearly still agitated with her for not taking his side the day before, and for inserting herself into the situation now. "You'd better watch the way you speak to me, or I could get you fired."

Hank was bluffing, but he was angry. Barbara gave a forced chuckle, because it was the funniest thing she'd heard in awhile. The audacity it took to threaten her over this was laughable. "Why don't you go tell Fowler about it, then, Hank? Captain Fowler, who told me to come tell him if you gave me trouble during the investigation? _That_ Fowler would love to hear all about _this_ ," she lifted her hand and waved it around, forcing him to acknowledge the commotion that was his own doing. At this point, a few people in the office were staring since she had chosen to get involved.

That seemed to quell Hank somewhat, but she was sure it wouldn’t be the end of their dispute. He lowered his voice, looking over her shoulder at Connor, his body language relaxing as some of the tension left him, glaring at her with disappointment. "I can't believe you're going to defend this thing."

"I'm not defending anyone," she said, holding up the paper in her hand. “But we have work to do. If you checked the case files, there’s a report that just came in. Apparently an AX400 assaulted a man last night.”

Hank glowered at Barbara, eyes flickering between her and Connor, who remained silent behind her. After wordlessly berating them both with his stare alone, he plucked the paper from her hand and scanned it over.

“It was last seen around the Ravendale District,” she said, leveling her voice as she felt the rush of adrenaline slow, sucking in a deep breath. “I say we go check it out.”

Hank glanced up at her briefly over the top of the paper, grunting.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kind words on the first chapter, as well as constructive criticism! It honestly has helped to get second opinions, I think other perspectives are necessary, and I am reworking some future chapters/plot points. 
> 
> As mentioned before, the plot will generally stay similar with some events being added and some cut out for time. In the case of this story, the events of the game will only be a small portion of the whole storyline. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed getting a closer look at my OC, Barbara. I hope she wasn’t too harsh/skeptical right off the bat, but if she was, future chapters will demonstrate her more redeeming qualities.
> 
> Also, you can find me on [tumblr](https://from-the-clouds.tumblr.com) (@from-the-clouds). Here is a link to this fic's [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLvB0pQ_9KkzKIWFSUZ42ZOK7dSM68UcIg), as I often write while listening to music.


	3. 3 | Reluctance

**CHAPTER 3 | RELUCTANCE**

**NOVEMBER 2, 2038**

**12:44PM**

**Connor** stood outside of Lieutenant Anderson's car, rain coming down in near torrents. They'd driven to the Ravendale district to investigate the disappearance of an AX400 that had attacked its owner the previous evening, and then vanished. The Lieutenant stood talking to one of the first officers who'd been at the scene, who was debriefing him on situation. Connor listened in from what he considered to be a respectful distance. After the outburst in the office earlier, he didn't feel it was in his best interest to be any closer to the man.

Having dressed inappropriately for the weather, Lieutenant Anderson was in his jacket and shirt from earlier. Across from Connor stood Detective Martin, who'd put on a black slicker and held an umbrella between the crook of her elbow and her neck, as she scribbled notes on a reporter's notebook. Focused, she winced as a particularly hard gust of wind sprayed some rain in her face.

Connor hadn't spoken to her since what had happened back at the precinct, mostly because he was a little stumped on how to continue. Back at the DPD, her tiff with the Lieutenant had been unexpected, and something in his social programming made him feel obligated to provide some closure, without having Lieutenant Anderson as an audience.

"Detective Martin," he began, and she glanced up from her note-taking to look at Connor, narrowing her eyes slightly to show he had her attention. "I wanted to apologize for the rather unpleasant confrontation I caused between you and Lieutenant Anderson this morning."

"Apologize?" she asked, frowning. "Okay….." after a brief pause, she continued. "I didn't think you were the one who was being violent."

"I know it wasn't a desirable circumstance to find yourself in," Connor said. "So I do have to express some appreciation that you stepped in before the situation could escalate."

Pocketing the notebook and pen, she adjusted the umbrella and glanced briefly at the Lieutenant before she spoke up. "I mean, I don't know exactly what you said to him, but I'm going to go out on a limb and assume it probably wasn't the best way to approach Hank if you wanted a positive response," Her mouth tugged up slightly at the corner, squinting at him. "Whatever you're trying to do….I get it….But you might want to watch yourself if I'm not around to come to your rescue," she finished dryly.

He detected some humor in her voice, which made him slightly relieved. So far, she hadn't been one to initiate anything more than straightforward, professional conversation. He chose to pursue the path. "If I recall, you told the Lieutenant earlier you weren't defending me."

"Okay, smartass," she tilted her head to look up at him. "Nice banter feature you've got there."

"I thought you might appreciate it," Connor responded.

"Only a little," she quipped, her voice remained flat, but the smirk playing on her lips and slightly squinted eyes indicated to him she was amused.

It didn't last long though, because a flicker of some emotion passed over her face quickly, a realization, and she turned to focus back at Lieutenant Anderson. Connor frowned, wondering if something he'd said had upset her, but when he analyzed their conversation again, found nothing that might have been offensive. "You've known the Lieutenant for some time, haven't you?"

Detective Martin looked back at Connor and nodded. "Yeah, he helped train me."

Regardless of whether or not Lieutenant Anderson liked him, he would have to continue on regardless to complete his mission. He _did_ feel that it would be ideal if they all were able to work together and communicate effectively as a team, and so far, they had both been difficult to engage. "How would you recommend I approach him if I'd like to make the experience working with him more...pleasant?" Connor asked.

Detective Martin stared at him for a moment. That seemed to be a common behavior of hers, to think about a question before answering. She was always succinct, calculated in the way she responded to him and others. With each interaction he'd observed, he understood why she'd been promoted to be a detective after such a short time with the DPD, although he still was a bit confused by the disorderly conduct charge.

"It takes time," she began. "When we first worked together, he thought I was too straight-laced. But I made it clear pretty quickly I wasn't going to put up with his bullshit. Once we established a mutual respect for one another things got better. We argued a lot along the way, though. I can't really offer much advice outside of my own experience."

Connor looked over at the Lieutenant, who seemed to be wrapping up the conversation with the officer. He had already gotten all the information he needed from his safe distance.

"Most humans seem to have some sort of grudge against androids, Hank _hates_ androids. So you might find it a bit harder than I did," Detective Martin added.

"Do you know why he hates androids?" Connor inquired, just as Lieutenant Anderson began to make his way back over towards the two of them.

She shook her head, and didn't meet his eyes. "Yeah. I don't really think that's my place to share, though."

The lieutenant was within earshot then, looking at the notes he'd taken on his tablet. Detective Martin collapsed her umbrella and pulled the hood of her raincoat over her hair, looking at her superior officer. "Any leads?" she asked him.

"Well, both the motel manager and the clerk at the service station said they briefly saw an android that matched the description, but didn't remember where it went when it left," Lieutenant Anderson said, eyeing him briefly with disdain. Connor didn't miss it.

"Alright," Detective Martin spoke up. "My first bet is that abandoned house-" she pointed behind them at the boarded up mansion that sat on the corner. "I'm going to walk the perimeter and try to find any signs of forced entry."

Lieutenant Anderson nodded. Connor had already flagged the building as a potential location the deviant could taken shelter in, so he agreed with her suggestion. He doubted that it had gone far as it had no place to go. Its actions so indicated that it was driven by fear.

"Let's go," she said, placing her umbrella on the top of the lieutenant's car before leading the way across the street.

They searched along the sidewalk to find any potential entrance to the abandoned house and the lot. From the street, they found nothing, until Detective Martin found a pair of muddy footprints leading to a small alleyway next to the house.

It was in that alleyway that Connor was able to find a portion of fence that had been snipped with wire cutters and could be lifted so there was enough space to get underneath and onto the lot of the abandoned home.

Lieutenant Anderson and Detective Anderson stood by while Connor examined the site, a small trace of died thirium on one of the severed edges of the fence. Detective Martin crawled underneath lithely while he was investigating, leaving the Lieutenant in the alleyway alone.

"Find something?" she asked Connor.

"There's blue blood on the fence," he said, turning away from her and looking at the porch of the rundown home.

"Let's take a look," she said. "I'll meet you on the other side of the house."

He got the hint that she meant to meet him at the front of the home in case anyone lurking outside tried to escape, the two of them could cover more ground together. Lieutenant Anderson began making his way under the chain link fence with a groan.

Connor couldn't find any signs of forced entry, but he could have sworn he heard movement inside the home as he wrapped around the front porch, and some of the boarded up windows had been clearly tampered with. He couldn't determine if it was recent damage, however, and he found Detective Martin on the opposite side of the home, standing at the front door.

"It's unlocked," she said. "I saw from the window there's another android inside, but he doesn't match the description of the AX400. It looks….damaged or something," she frowned.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing towards the door. "I suggest you stay outside, so you can alert Lieutenant Anderson if I find anything."

Nodding, she shifted her weight and opened her jacket, her hand on the holster at her hip. "Let me know if you need backup."

Before he entered, Connor peered through a crack in the boarded up windows, finding what his partner had suggested. And android with his back to the door, standing restlessly in the middle of the room. He couldn't get a good enough look to identify it through the small opening. Detective Martin flattened herself against the side of the house, and nodded at him as he reached for the doorknob.

Entering the home, he found it vacant save for a few dusty pieces of damaged furniture and the android he had expected. Scanning the android, he identified it as a Model WR600, a gardener, who'd had his artificial skin badly burned on one side of its face, causing permanent damage. It jumped at the sight of him. Its LED indicated software instabilities and its stress level was moderate, though Connor had yet to determine the source.

"Are you alone?" Connor asked as he began to investigate the rest of the room. Remnants of a still-burning fire in the fireplace and a couple bunched up blankets on the floor indicated that there may have been a squatter in the vicinity recently, but androids didn't need heat.

"Yes," the WR600 spoke, its voice unsteady.

As Connor moved about the room, its stress level rose. Connor noticed a space underneath the front staircase that was quilted in darkness. Its stress level spiked to 95% as he neared the area, he was hiding something.

He leaned down, catching a glimpse of blonde hair before he was pulled back forcefully, a pair of arms locking around his arm and waist. He wrestled against what he realized was the WR600, watching in front of him as the AX400 and the YK500 emerged from under the stairs. He was able to catch that the deviant had changed its appearance from the police description, but then he was violently turned around, away from the suspects.

"Run, Kara!" The WR600 yelled as Connor was finally able to free himself, losing his footing and falling to the ground just as Lieutenant Anderson rushed inside and he brushed past him out the door. "It's here," Connor shouted over his shoulder.

He made his way out to the street, underneath the fence where they'd come in, looking down both sides of the street until he spotted someone running.

Detective Martin was already in hot pursuit, the black raincoat she wore flapping in the wind behind her as she sprinted down the sidewalk after the deviant, dodging pedestrians who were oblivious to the scene around them. Turning a quick corner into an alleyway, an officer fell into step behind Connor as he watched the deviants climbing a barrier at the end of the narrow street.

He could see from the opposite end of the alleyway that Detective Martin had one boot into the rungs of the chain-link fence, both hands raised to climb as the suspect hit the ground on the other side. Instead of scaling forward, however, she hesitated as the deviant turned to look at her.

Detective Martin lowered herself down to the ground as Connor finally caught up, another officer close behind him. The deviant stared at her, and some kind of recognition flickered across her face as she stepped backwards, away from the fence.

The AX400 grabbed the hand of the child model and slid down the bank to the busy freeway below. The officer behind her raised his gun.

"Don't shoot," she said, holding up her hand as she watched the pair step over the safety rail to the highway.

Connor began to climb the fence then, unsure of why the she had chosen to give up the chase. Just as he pulled himself upwards, a hand gripped his shoulder and dragged him towards the ground with surprising strength. "Where the hell are you going?" Detective Martin asked, her voice low.

"They can't get away," Connor attempted to climb again, resisting, but she shook her head and pulled him down again.

"You think they're going to make it across there?" she asked. "They're good as dead."

Lieutenant Anderson caught up with them, squatting and breathing heavily as he watched the deviant and child try to make their way across the highway, cursing under his breath.

Connor shook his head, trying to release himself from her grip. Detective Martin was much stronger than he'd anticipated. Not as strong as him, of course, but it was considerable. "I'm not willing to take that chance."

"Stop it," she growled, both her hands on his shoulders, hauling him downwards with almost all of her weight, managing to free one of his arms from the fence so he was forced to look her in the eyes. "Do you want to _die_?" Her voice was firm, but slightly unsteady as she gripped his shoulder and stepped between him and the fence.

"She's right, Connor. That's an order," Lieutenant Anderson said, knelt over as he struggled to catch his breath.

Detective Martin's hand fell from his shoulder as his body relaxed and he stepped away from the fence, an orange wall rising in front of him as Lieutenant Anderson's order made its way into his programming.

The three watched as the deviant and child made their way across the highway, dodging the electric cars and nearly getting hit several times.

"Fuck," Lieutenant Anderson turned away at one point, and Connor looked over at him, then at Detective Martin.

Her hand was wrapped tightly around the chain link fence, her eyes trained on the two that had escaped her, brows etched together in concern. Her raincoat had shifted off her shoulders and her hair was damp, cheeks flushed, heart rate slightly elevated from the chase, but not as high as Lieutenant Anderson's, who was still gasping for air. It seemed as though she was slightly perturbed, but it was hard to read just exactly what she was feeling.

They watched the android successfully make it to the other side of the highway, where it disappeared behind an overpass.

"We'll send someone over to investigate," Lieutenant Anderson spoke up, placing a gentle hand on Detective Martin's shoulder. "You okay, kid?" he asked.

She blinked, turning to look at the Lieutenant and then Connor with a blank stare, nodding. Her voice was surprisingly steady considering the lost look in her eyes, she cleared her throat. "It may be useful to call in the AX400's owner for questioning, to see if we can gain some insight into what may have caused it to deviate. That might be more helpful if this doesn't pan out."

Lieutenant Anderson nodded. "Good idea. Let's wrap things up here."

* * *

**NOVEMBER 2, 2038**

**2:55PM**

Connor stood across from Lieutenant Anderson at a table next to a food truck where he'd ordered a cheeseburger and soda and was now enjoying it for a late lunch. He'd been told initially to stay in the car, but he knew that he had to reconcile with the man after their argument this morning.

Detective Martin had left the car too, but she stood alone at a table several feet away from them, writing on her notepad and drinking a water. When Lieutenant Anderson had offered to buy her a meal she'd wrinkled her nose and told him she "didn't eat that crap" before putting distance between herself and her partners.

Connor's first couple attempts at reconciliation with Lieutenant Anderson had been unsuccessful, and he was once again running low on options. He'd already asked the lieutenant about the illegal gambling he'd seen him partake in while waiting for his food, and probed him about why he didn't pay for his meal - because the owner of the shop was his friend.

He attempted to make conversation about the case, which seemed to work a bit better. After awhile, with no outbursts, the lieutenant dismissed him. "If you don't mind, I'd like to finish the rest of my lunch in peace."

Connor nodded, but left the interaction feeling like they'd taken at least a few steps forward since this morning. He looked over at Detective Martin, who was staring down the street in the opposite direction of where he stood. Lost in thought, she was biting her lower lip, glancing down to write something else in her notepad. After the chase today, she'd grown even more reticent than usual.

As he approached her she looked over at him, narrowing her eyes. This time there was some clear venom in her glare. He wondered where he'd gone wrong. "Save your lecture for another time, I'm not in the mood," she said flatly, lifting her chin and turning her head away.

"I'm not quite sure I know what you're speaking of," Connor said honestly.

"Aren't you angry with me for keeping you from accomplishing your mission?" she asked him, closing her notepad and leaning against the table she stood at, her arms crossed. It became clear to him she was referring to her decision to let the deviants go.

"I'm not angry," Connor answered honestly. Even if he wanted to be, he wasn't able to. "It thought it was an...interesting decision for you to make."

"I know by interesting, you mean stupid." she said deliberately. "Well, the fact they made it across the highway was a fluke. Who knows if you'd have been that lucky."

Connor leaned against the table across from her, and she seemed to be studying his movements, calculating, unconsciously shifting her weight away from him. "I appreciate your concern for my safety, but I can't die. If something happens to me, my memory is simply uploaded into a new body."

Snorting, she shook her head. "That's not the point. If I have a choice whether or not to watch anybody get brutally killed in front of me, I'm going to opt out."

Connor didn't answer for a moment, watching her carefully as she stared at the people walking on the other side of the street. He decided it was best to change the subject, as it wasn't getting him anywhere and persisting seemed useless. "Is there a reason you write everything down in a notebook, instead of using a tablet like other officers?" he asked. He'd noticed this eccentricity from her the day before.

Shrugging, she looked over at him. "When I write things down I remember them better than if I typed it out," she looked at him. "Human brain problems, you couldn't possibly understand," her tone was flat but he noticed the joke because of the way her eyes narrowed slightly, then flickered out of contact with his.

Connor gave her a small smile.

"So, it looks like you and Hank had a conversation that didn't end in a fight someone had to break up...that's a good sign," she observed after a pause.

"It could have gone better," Connor confessed. "He told me he wanted to eat alone. But I think it went well considering the circumstances."

"I'm glad to hear that," she said. "I don't like being around Hank when he's irritated."

"Neither do I," Connor quipped, and that brought a smirk to her lips.

Connor leaned farther forward, pausing as he considered whether or not to ask the question he'd been contemplating since the day he first met her. With discussing Lieutenant Anderson's disciplinary history so recent in his cache of of memories, he thought it was only fair to bring hers up. Plus, she seemed to be in a more pleasant mood than he'd initially expected.

"Detective Martin," he began and she lifted her hand.

"Just call me Barbara?" she said. " _Detective Martin_ is what Fowler calls me when he's in a bad mood."

Connor made sure to process this command into his programming, although it was a bit foreign and clashed with his professionally protocols. He'd deal with that later.

"Alright," he spoke again. "May I ask you a personal question?"

She was taking a sip of her water, and she swallowed before speaking up. "That depends. Let me hear the question first."

"One of my features is my ability to identify people and access basic information about them - their name, their date of birth, and their criminal record," Connor explained. "When I met you, I saw that you were charged a few years back with disorderly conduct. What happened?"

"Wait," she straightened up, glaring at him. "That's still on my record?"

Connor nodded, but became concerned based on her defensive body language that he shouldn't have asked. Until she relaxed slightly, bit her lower lip and frowned. "It was a bar fight," she shrugged. "My friend was getting hit on by this guy, she kept pushing him off so I stepped in. I got kicked out of the bar and then someone called it in. No one was hurt. Fowler found out, he wasn't happy. But _he_ told me it'd be removed from my record."

Connor nodded. She didn't appear to be a particularly aggressive person, but it didn't seem out of character, either. He had known disorderly conduct could represent several types of behavior, but this seemed logical, and became less concerning.

"Did that make you worried when you first met me, then?" Detective Martin asked, turning back to him, leaning forward on the table. "Did you think I was a _liability_ or something?" the sparkle in her eye was back, she was teasing him.

"It was a concern at first," he said, being truthful. "But it clearly won't influence the investigation, I've gathered enough information about you since then."

Raising her eyebrows, she said nothing and straightened up, growing distant as she fixated once again on the street in front of them, eyes on the people passing by.

The more he spoke to her the more he was beginning to understand, even if she was a bit more reserved than most humans he'd been in contact with. Even Lieutenant Anderson was easier to read when it came to emotions. He wasn't sure if he preferred the man's open hatred or Detective Martin's courteous indifference.

"It looks like Hank's finishing up," she said ,crumpling the paper cup in her hand. "I think we better head back to the office and set up some interviews, figure out what's going on…."

Connor was more inclined to discuss the case ahead of them at this point, rather than continuing to attempt to build the relationship between himself and his partners. Although he was designed to adapt to human inpredictability, something he'd told Lieutenant Anderson about earlier. So far, he'd found it to be futile, and wondered vaguely if this was a fault of his programming, or perhaps a result of his complex coworkers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 1st Birthday DBH! I wanted to get a chapter out today in honor. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think. Connor is definitely one of the most difficult POV’s to write out of any character I’ve ever written for, but I really enjoy the challenge and hope you like my interpretation. The next chapter will be very different and deviate from game events, so stay tuned, and I hope you enjoy.
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://from-the-clouds.tumblr.com) (@from-the-clouds). Here is a link to this fic's [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLvB0pQ_9KkzKIWFSUZ42ZOK7dSM68UcIg).


	4. 4 | Inquiry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: This chapter contains references to murder/serial killers, as well as amphetamine abuse/addiction.

**CHAPTER 4 | INQUIRY**

**NOVEMBER 3, 2038**

**11:38 AM**

**Barbara** sighed and leaned back against her chair, rubbing her fingers against her temples. In an hour she was going to scheduled to talk to Todd Williams, the owner of the AX400 she'd let get away the previous day, to see if they could determine some kind of common denominator in the cases of deviancy that were turning up new on her desk each day.

All night long she'd tossed and turned as she replayed the scene in her head. Leaping forward onto the chain link fence, fully prepared to climb, knowing she'd catch the deviant if she did. But when it turned around to face her, she no longer saw a machine. It's LED had been removed, it wore plain street clothes, and what stared back at her was a scared woman, eyes wild with some kind of animalistic instinct to _run_. She'd seen that look several times before; in house calls when she was an officer and reflected in her car's rear view mirror, her foot on the accelerator. Barbara couldn't bring herself to advance. Not even if she wanted to.

Now, she was being berated by her logical mind because of the choice she’d made. _It's not human, it can't be afraid. It's just some kind of error in it's code._ She’d heard several variations of this speech from Connor, enough to recite it all by herself. The more empathetic side of her, which she'd only had the pleasure of getting in touch with in the last few years, kept reassuring her that she’d done the right thing. The two went back and forth in her mind, arguing, a devil one shoulder, an angel on the other, like the caricatures in cartoons she'd watched as a child. If only there was some way to turn it all off when the noise became too much....

They’d also already met with Leo Manfred, the son of recently-deceased painter Carl Manfred. According to Leo, Carl's android had murdered him after an intense argument between the three of them, and he’d been the only witness. Police had shot and discarded the android, so it was of no use to the investigation. They hadn't even bothered to confirm it’s model or serial number before throwing it in a dump somewhere, unable to be recovered. So now, all she knew was that the special-edition android had been gifted to Carl by Elijah Kamski, the founder of CyberLife himself.

"I can't decide whether that kid helped the case or hurt it," Hank grumbled. It was as if he could tell what she was so frustrated about, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head as he plucked the words straight from her thoughts.

"He was high the entire time we were interviewing him," she said flatly. She recalled Leo’s anxiously tapping foot, dilated pupils, and general nervous energy as he scanned the room, never quite meeting her eyes. _Red Ice_. Barbara had seen it countless times. She could spot an addict from a mile away.

"There's gotta be some kind of truth to his statement," Hank shrugged. "But it seems weird that the thing wasn’t exhibiting aggressive behaviors beforehand."

"That's why I don't think we're getting the full story," she tilted her head back, clasping her hands together and looking at the ceiling as though she'd find some answer there. This investigation was challenging her more than she'd like to admit. “I mean, Carl Manfred died of _cardiac arrest_ , he had no internal or external injuries. How would his android have killed him? It doesn’t add up.”

Connor, who'd been listening to their conversation, sat quietly and observed them both, sitting up in his chair. The more time he spent with her and Hank, the more he seemed to adapt to their body language, like tapping his fingers on his desk or rubbing his hands together when he was focused on something. There were still a few quirks about him that made him slightly _awkward,_ the superhuman coin tricks were one, but in general, if it weren't for his jacket with the obnoxious glowing armband and the LED on his temple, he could easily pass as just another detective at the station.

When he spoke, Connor was still quite robotic. Yesterday, however, he'd shocked her with a touch of humor, which had thrown her off considerably. It had seemed so natural. He and Hank seemed to be getting on a little better today, and while she didn't have any personal qualms with him, she still wasn't quite sure what to think.

"Perhaps Todd Williams can provide us with some more insight," Connor spoke.

"Yeah,” she shrugged. “I just sent you both a memo with notes on what I’d like to discuss." she said. “His statement to the officers has a couple contradictions, so I’ll have to try to navigate those without making him feel threatened.”

Hank nodded and rose from his desk. "Well, I'm going to take a whiz before he gets here, let me know if any _breakthroughs_ happen while I'm gone," he chuckled at his bad joke before retreating.

Barbara would have rolled her eyes, but she was just relieved that things weren’t quite as contentious as they had been. Staring back at the list of questions in front of her, she racked her brain for anything else that might lead to some answers concerning the investigation, triple checking the original report.

"Babs," she heard a familiar voice from behind her, and found James Walter, one of her colleagues, approaching with two to-go cups of coffee in his hand. "I heard you had an eventful day yesterday."

"I'm having an eventful investigation in general," she corrected him, turning away from the screen in front of her, thankful for the distraction. He held one of the coffees out to her. "What's this?" she asked.

"I thought you'd appreciate something stronger than the crap they have in the break room," he smirked, a crooked smile that crinkled the edges of his blue eyes. Unkempt, sandy blonde hair poked out from underneath his police cap.

"You shouldn't have," she said, but took the coffee eagerly from his hand. "What do I owe you?"

"My treat," he said, leaning back to perch on the edge of her desk. James was relatively new to the DPD, having only arrived as an officer about a year ago, a transfer from a smaller town in Michigan. When she’d been assigned to show him around on his first day, she expected it to go as blandly as any other orientation, but he’d won her over with bad jokes and an easygoing personality. He was one of her most tolerable coworkers, she’d go as far as to say he was a friend.

"Thank you," she said sincerely, taking a sip of the coffee and closing her eyes.

"It's the good stuff," he said, pausing for a minute as she savored the piping hot beverage and it’s rich aroma. She’d never had high standards for what she expected of coffee as long as it gave her the energy boost she needed, but she knew a good cup when she had one.

"Hey," he began when he saw Hank approaching, lowering his voice slightly and leaning forward. "My shift starts in ten minutes, but I get off at five. A couple of us are going to The Union for happy hour, I wondered if you wanted to tag along? I can give you a ride…."

Barbara had to physically stop herself from grimacing. It was a little dramatic of her. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d socialized outside of work, and it was likely well before James had joined the precinct. Of course, he was only being friendly, but she always felt guilty turning down the invitations when they rarely occurred. "I’m not sure, it depends on when I'm done here."

That was a lie. Barbara was _always_ sure. _Sure_ that she didn’t want to come along. For some reason, though, she could never shut anyone down so blatantly.

"Of course, yeah," he said, nodding rapidly. "I mean, no big deal if you can't, I just...I thought I'd ask," he stuttered and turned around as Hank's chair creaked behind him, the lieutenant making himself comfortable at his desk.

"Officer Walter," Hank nodded at James, who straightened up considerably, pushing himself out of his casual position.

"Good to see you, Lieutenant," he nodded at the man, turning back to face Barbara. "I gotta get going, but just let me know if you want to come."

“Of course,” Barbara said, breathing a sigh of relief as he retreated.

Hank watched him retreat, but she put her head down, focused back on the memo she was trying to edit. "Nice kid," he observed after a beat of silence.

Barbara’s eyes flashed towards Hank briefly. His eyebrow was raised as he leaned back in chair, arms crossed. “Yep,” she popped the ‘p’ and pursed her lips.

She didn’t love the suggestive expression layered across Hank’s face, a smug smirk and squinted eyes. But he continued to stare at her, even after she focused back on her computer.

Exhaling, she looked back up at him after a few moments of silence. Connor observed her and Hank quietly, his eyes flickering back and forth between the two of them. “Is there something you’d like to say?” she asked.

“No,” he shook his head and leaned forward, but his facial expression didn’t change. An overwhelming impulse inside her wanted to deck the smirk right off his face, but she couldn't let him know he was getting under her skin.

“That’s what I thought,” she said. Whatever he was getting at, she’d had enough. And for _Christ’s sake_ , they had an interview in a couple minutes.

"Anyways," she changed the subject. "I think it'll be best if I take the lead with the questioning today. You can jump in if you feel it's necessary, but I don't want to overwhelm him."

Before Hank or Connor could answer, an officer approached their trio of desks. "Lieutenant, Detective Martin," the man nodded at the two of them, ignoring Connor. "Todd Williams is here, he's ready for you."

Barbara collected the file in front of her and stood up. "Well, let's see what we can find out."

* * *

 

**NOVEMBER 3, 2038**

**12:04 PM**

**_Todd Williams_ **

**_Born: 7/3/1993 // Unemployed_ **

**_Criminal record: Public intoxication, possession of illegal substances_ **

**Connor** examined the man through the opposite side of the half-silvered mirror. Todd William’s body language and increased heart rate indicated that he was coming down from a high, already the second person they'd spoken to today that was under the influence. According to Connor’s research, Todd had been unemployed for the past year, and fit the description of the rapidly growing underclass that were the highest percentage of Red Ice users _._

"What the hell is this? I thought I was just answering questions," the man lashed out as soon the door opened and Detective Martin entered, notepad and folder under her arm, a pen tucked behind her ear.

Seemingly unfazed by the outburst, Detective Martin kept her voice easy as she approached him. "You are. We thought we'd use this room for some privacy, the office can get a bit hectic sometimes."

"So there aren't ten dudes with guns behind that mirror, listening in?" he asked, gesturing towards Connor and Lieutenant Anderson, who were doing just that on the other side of the one-way glass.

Shaking her head, Detective Martin gave a soft laugh. “Could you imagine if we had those sort of resources?” Connor could tell she wasn't being sincere, but saw where it would be convincing, and Todd Williams’ expression neutralized. "You don't have anything to worry about. I just have a couple of questions about your AX400."

This seemed to relax the man, and he wasn't shy about giving her a slow once-over, his eyes grazing up and down her in an unspoken appraisal. Lieutenant Anderson noticed this too, and scoffed besides Connor. Holding out her hand, she smiled.

"My name is Detective Martin," she said. "Thanks again for stopping in today."

He shook it, but said nothing in response.

The smile fell off her face pretty quickly, and she sat down at the table across from him, opened the folder in her hands, and pulled the pen from behind her ear. "I hope you don't mind if I take notes. I've been assigned to a team who is currently investigating causes of deviancy in CyberLife androids," she scanned over the documents in front of her before looking back up at Todd.

"I know you already gave a statement to officers about the incident involving your AX400 and YK500, but I have a few follow-up questions. Answering them might help me and the other detectives working the case."

Todd leaned back in his chair, surveying the empty room, arms crossed. "What do ya need to know?"

Connor watched the detective examine him, her eyes flickering towards the healing scab near his eye, faint bruises around his neck, and trailing down to his exposed wrists which were lined with scratches. He'd already identified these injuries when he'd first seen Todd, obviously the result of some kind of altercation. Since they appeared to be relatively new injuries, he had concluded they were from the AX400 attacking him.

Since the previous day, Connor had done some research on Detective Martin - _Barbara_ , his programming corrected itself. According to public records, she’d previously worked in homicides, and made a name for herself as a rookie after cracking the notorious 'De Rais' Killer case. The notorious serial murderer had kidnapped and killed eight children in the Detroit area from from 2030-2033. The city had been in a panic, schools had threatened to shut down until the DPD solved the case. Unfortunately, there was limited physical evidence and few witnesses, and descriptions of the suspect varied. Detective Martin had found the cigarette butt one of the suspects, and forensics were able to match the DNA sample to evidence found at the scene of the crime.

After that, she'd played key roles in solving several cases, the local papers had sang praises of the bright and fiery young detective, who's keen eye and attention to detail made her an asset to any investigation. She then became well-respected for her work cracking several long-abandoned cold cases. However, Connor found very little information about her in more recent years, besides a few small Red Ice dealer busts. There were no letters in her disciplinary file, either, so the disorderly conduct charge he’d been initially concerned about proved to be an anomaly.

Her coworkers seemed to respect her, though she kept to herself mostly. Except, Connor _had_ noticed a slight rift between her and Detective Gavin Reed, based solely the way the man glared at her from across the room. Detective Martin seemed to ignore his attention, however. Besides himself and Lieutenant Anderson, he’d seen her talk to officers Tina Chen and James Walter occasionally.

Today, Officer Walter’s conversation with her had been particularly interesting to observe. Detective Martin had seemed oblivious to Officer Walter’s advance, but Connor had not failed to notice his clear interest in her, which seemed to go beyond platonic boundaries. The man’s heart rate had increased, his cheeks had flushed, and he’d stuttered over his words,. Lieutenant Anderson seemed to notice it as well, but Detective Martin didn’t appear inclined to discuss the subject at all, despite his subtle teasing. She appeared indifferent, maybe even a little offended. It was hard to tell with her.

It certainly made sense that Officer Walter might be romantically interested in her. Connor’s programming had already recognized that she met the requirements to be considered conventionally attractive, with full lips, a sharp jawline, and high cheekbones.

Lieutenant Anderson stood next to Connor, hands on his hips as he watched their partner carefully through the two-way glass. "I don't like the look of this guy," Lieutenant Anderson grumbled, more to himself, which prompted Connor to glance at him briefly before returning his focus to Detective Martin.

"How long had you owned your AX400?" she asked, having made enough small talk to appease Todd into leaning back in his chair, as comfortable as an addict coming down from a high could possibly appear.

"Only a couple of months," Todd said. "My wife ran off and someone needed to cook and clean for the place, look after Alice. I couldn't do it all on top of work."

“And, Alice is the name you’d given to your ‘daughter’? The YK500?”

Todd winced at her words, as if his daughter being referred to by her model name upset him. Connor knew the YK500 model had been used often to replace lost children or provided those unable to conceive naturally with a ‘child’ to look after. Some even personalized their models to share similar physical features with their parents. It was common for their owners to grow just as attached to them as though they were real offspring.

“Yes,” Todd answered stiffly.

"And you didn't see any issues when you first bought the AX400?"

Todd shook his head. "No, it did what it was supposed to do, it stayed out of my way."

Detective Martin looked back up at him. "I've read your statement from the night it went missing, but I was wondering if you could recap what exactly happened?"

Todd seemed annoyed by this, rolling his eyes and leaning forward. "I fucking told the cops a hundred times what happened. We were eating dinner, and it was like a fucking switch flipped. It attacked me, took Alice and ran off."

“Are there any other details you feel may be pertinent?” Detective Martin asked, pressing for more information, which he seemed to be withholding. “Was it acting strange prior to dinner?”

“No, it fucking wasn’t,” Todd raised his hands, almost in defense. “It came out of nowhere, I already told you.”

Detective Martin worried her lower lip between her teeth for a brief moment as though deciding whether or not to pursue the question, since Todd was growing irritated, and didn’t seem to want to elaborate further.

"Okay,” she scribbled something down on her notepad. “Am I correct in that just a day before your android attacked you, it had been in the repair shop because it was damaged?"

"Yeah," Todd said, leaning back in his chair, scowl riddling his features.

"Had you seen any signs of malfunction before it left for the repair shop? Or do you think something could have happened there?" she asked, probing.

Todd shrugged. "Who the hell knows, it's not like I ever really tried to _understand_ the thing. All it had to do was one job, and it obviously couldn’t."

"May I ask why was it brought into the repair shop to begin with?" Detective Martin tilted her head.

"It was damaged, missing components or something." Todd's eyes narrowed and the man glanced away quickly, towards the mirror which Lieutenant Anderson and Connor stood behind, then he lifted his chin to look at Detective Martin. “It got hit by a car.”

She looked at him a moment, staying silent as Todd fidgeted in his seat, avoiding her eyes. "What, do you think I'm lying?" he said finally, the silence becoming to much.

_"He is,"_ Connor observed, matter-of-factly. His programming wasn’t advanced enough to always detect them, in fact, no such programming existed. But this was clearly written in Todd Williams body language. Lieutenant Anderson turned to look at him briefly before focusing back on what was unfolding in front of him.

"I watched it happen," Todd continued, voice booming. He was much larger than Detective Martin, but she didn't seem intimidated.

Her jaw set as she tried to look Todd in the eyes, and he refused to meet her gaze. She changed the subject, voice giving away nothing, though she seemed to grip the pen in her hand with a rigidity Connor had not noticed before. "There are scratches on your arms, a laceration on your eye, and bruises on your neck," she observed. "May I ask if those were from the altercation with your android?"

Lieutenant Anderson shifted his weight next to Connor as Todd finally turned to look her in the eyes, a storm looming within them. "Ah, shit," The lieutenant mumbled under his breath. Connor sensed the rising tension in the room across from him too.

"If you must know, yes...." Todd said, short, but the sentence was long enough to capture the darkness in his voice.

Inhaling, Detective Martin nodded, tapping her foot a couple times, almost as if she was nervous. That, was unlike her. Connor could tell very clearly now that something wasn't quite right. Not only did Todd appear dishonest and now potentially violent, but Barbara’s body language was beginning to indicate some discomfort, stress. Perhaps fear, but her expressions were so minuscule it was too hard for him to discern at the present.

Drawing her shoulders down in a conscious effort to seem more relaxed, Detective Martin seemed to realize how hostile the conversation had become. Looking over her notes, she frowned, raising her head to look at Todd again.

"You said that you couldn't handle work, keeping your house clean, and looking after your daughter, so that was why you purchased the AX400 a few months ago." she looked back at her notes. "But, based on the information provided by the police you've been unemployed for the past year."

She’d found a discrepancy in his story, and pointed it out to him. Though her voice was calm, it did nothing to stunt the impending tsunami that now towered over her, standing from the desk.

"What the fuck is this? I thought you told me this was an interview, not an interrogation? I’ve done nothing wrong!” Todd’s voice was booming, loud, but the detective remained unaffected, meeting his eyes and staying silent from her perch.

"I'm pulling her out of there," Lieutenant Anderson said, voice a barely audible growl, and Connor watched as he yanked open the door to the observation area just as Todd slammed his fist on the desk.

"Detective Martin?" he said in a pleasant but firm tone, all the tension from just seconds ago had dissipated. "Captain Fowler would like to see you."

"Thanks, Hank, but I'm in the middle of some-" she began, but the lieutenant held his hand up.

"It's urgent," he said. "I can finish up here."

Barbara rolled her shoulders back and turned to Todd. "Well, I suppose that's all _I_ need for now anyways. Thanks again for coming out."

Todd scoffed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. He murmured something unintelligible to even Connor as she left the room, an insult, he assumed, based on his tone and the scowl etched on his face. Lieutenant Anderson closed the door behind her, greeting Todd with a friendly tone and a handshake.

Detective Martin took a deep breath as she entered the observation room and stood beside Connor, closing her eyes. "Fowler didn't really want to see me, did he?" she asked.

"No," Connor said. "Hank wanted to get you out of there."

"I figured," she said, and then sat down in one of the chairs, sighing. " _What a piece of shit_ ," she mumbled under her breath.

Connor turned to her. "Do you think that _he_ attacked the android?"

"Seems likely," she said. "The AX400 might have been defending itself. And.....I highly doubt it got hit by a car.”

Connor wasn't quite sure how to answer, but he didn't have to. Lieutenant Anderson thanked Todd for coming in and an officer escorted him out of the interrogation room.

When Lieutenant Anderson walked back into the observation area, he stood in front of Barbara, who refused to look at him as he stood next to her and crossed his arms. "Well, are you going to acknowledge what the hell just happened in there?"

Closing her eyes, she shook her head. "I know, I blew it….." she said, rising to her feet. “But it seems pretty clear to me what really happened.”

"Oh, I know," the lieutenant said.

Detective Martin finally looked her superior officer in the eye. "So what? Now we just let him walk back into the real world? A free man?” she asked, voice faint as her eyes flickered to the hallway outside the room where they stood. Nibbling on her lower lip, she clenched and unclenched her jaw.

Lieutenant Anderson sighed, clearly conflicted. Connor was surprised when he reached out after a spell and placed his hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Are you okay, kid?" his voice held a note of compassion that he hadn't heard before, he saw an unfamiliar twinkle of affection for Barbara in the lieutenant's eyes.

Shrugging him off, she stepped away and faced the window to the interrogation room again. "I'm fine."

Lieutenant Anderson left the room first, leaving Connor alone with Detective Martin, who seemed so removed from the setting around her that he decided it best to follow the lieutenant back to the office. Anyways, he no longer had any work-related rationale to remain there with her.

She fell into step next to Connor just as they returned to the precinct’s main floor, and glanced at him as the lieutenant split away to go to their trio of desks.

“Maybe you can answer this for me….” she said, turning down the hallway to the break room. Connor now had no choice but to follow her, since he was being addressed. “Why would the AX400 bring along the YK500 after it deviated? Do you think the child model was a deviant as well?”

Connor considered her questions before answering. “Well, we can’t confirm whether or not it was a deviant, but it is possible that the virus could have spread, which would cause the YK500 to experience the same simulated fear that the AX400 exhibited. However, YK Models _are_ programmed to become attached to their parental figures. It’s very possible it could have misinterpreted the AX400’s role and followed it like a child would it’s mother.”

She listened closely to Connor’s words as they stepped into the break room, which was occupied by officers finishing up their lunches, their mindless chatter flooding his auditory units.

“Damn it,” Detective Martin grabbed a clean mug from the cupboard, filled it with hot water and shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek. “We’re not getting anywhere.”

Bobbing a bag of peppermint tea in the mug, her brows furrowed, and she seemed to be considering their next approach. Connor’s back to the rest of the room, he hadn’t noticed the form that remained after the other officers filed out after their lunch break.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" he heard a voice from behind them as he studied his partner's mannerisms. Looking over his shoulder, Connor found Detective Reed hunched over one of the tables with a donut and his own cup of coffee in hand.

"Getting tea, Gavin," Connor was surprised when Barbara's icy response cut in before he could answer the disgruntled cop.

"I'm talking to your pet," he said gruffly, glaring at Connor. "The plastic cop. You know he can do that for you, right?" he gestured to the cup of tea in front of her.

She turned around and leaned back against the counter, looking over at Connor and back to Detective Reed. "Oh, you mean my partner?" she lifted the mug to her mouth and sipped. "We were just going over some new information we have on one of the deviant cases."

At first, he didn't answer, and she crossed her ankles, awaiting his response. "I see. Your _partner_ now, Mr. Robo-Cop....You know, they’re trying to replace us with _them_? It’ll take your job someday."

She looked over at Connor again. "Is that true, Connor?" she asked, sarcastically. “I would’ve appreciated if you told me that so I could start looking elsewhere for work.”

Connor was seeing a low probability that this wouldn’t end in an outburst from Reed, based solely on his previous two interactions with the detective. He’d initially believed his attitude to be motivated by a hate for androids, similar to Lieutenant Anderson, but he seemed to also harbor a similar dislike for Detective Martin, which was becoming clearer with each sentence he spoke.

"Quit fucking around with me," Detective Reed stood up from his spot leaning over the table. "You know I'm right. You mean to tell me you're fine with this plastic trash taking over everything, taking all our jobs?”

She put the coffee cup down next to her, matter-of-fact in the delivery of her words. "If you're so concerned that you're going to be replaced, I think that says more about what you think of your _own_ job performance, Gavin. I mean, why else would you be so threatened by him?"

Gavin stalked forward but Detective Martin still stood, looking unaffected and unbothered by his building anger. "You're a fucking bitch, you know that?" he growled at her.

"You think I’m a bitch because I won’t take shit from you?" she asked rhetorically, then narrowed her eyes. "How will I ever recover?"

Detective Reed scoffed. "You know what? I'll say it, because no one else will. You're only here because you're still riding the wave of solving the De Rais case. Can you name an investigation since where you did anything significant?"

That seemed to light a switch in her, an emotion Connor never seen flickered on her face too quickly for Detective Reed to notice, but he did.

"Can you name a time you'd ever cracked a case that high profile in say.....your entire career?" she asked him back, but Connor sensed that her patience was reaching a boiling point, by the way her heart rate increased and her voice grew darker.

"God only knows why Fowler and Anderson like you so much." Detective Reed suddenly was only about a foot away from her now, pinning her between himself and the counter, the last remark having been a final straw on his own building temper. "Show me the amazing detective; the vehement, brilliant cop you had to be to crack that case.....'cause since I've been here, I've yet to see _shit_."

He leaned forward then, hands on the counter on either side of her body, fully trapping her now, her heart rate was nearly 120 beats per minute, her fight or flight response activating. Connor watched her hands curl into fists, despite the fact that they held a slight tremble. He prepared to intervene. An injury to his partner wasn't ideal for the investigation if Detective Reed was considering an assault.

Sighing, Detective Martin kept up the facade of being unfazed, and stood up straighter, lifting her chin to meet his glower, their faces inches apart. "Careful Gavin," her voice was low, steady. "I'd hate to see you get another letter in your file."

With that remark, Gavin backed away, accepting the loss and locking eyes with Connor, his eyes ablaze. _"Cunt,"_ Detective Reed murmured under his breath, but loud enough for her to hear as he left the room. Connor watched him until he was out of vision, before turning to Detective Martin, who had spun around to face the cupboards once more. Her hands were still clenched, and suddenly she brought her fist down to the counter so hard that her tea splattered on the counter. A loud bang echoed in the empty room. The emotions she'd kept bottled up after her confrontation with Todd Williams were no longer a mystery to him. She was _angry._

"Fucking _prick,_ " she hissed and then brushed past Connor and out of the room. He was torn. Did he return to his desk, or did he follow her? She was obviously in some sort of distress, her heart rate still increasing. Human emotions were unpredictable, and he doubted it was in anyone’s best interest to ignore her clear upset, lest things get out of hand. Hank might have appreciated it, and he was still trying to mend _that_ troubled relationship. Connor recalled the look of fondness in the man’s eyes only a few minutes ago.

He barely caught her turning the corner at the end of the hallway, and followed her carefully through the maze of the building, passing others until she finally reached the dead end of a secluded hallway. Detective Martin crouched down against one of the walls, buried her head in her hands and groaned, fingers twisting in her hair and he heard her take in a deep breath.

"Detective Martin?" he spoke and she started slightly, turning to look at him, cheeks flushed, hair hanging in her face.

"Connor?" she asked, rising to her feet. "What the _hell_ did you follow me for?" there was a slight bite to her tone, but he couldn’t discern if it was directed at him or not.

"It became clear to me you were emotionally distressed," he explained. "Your heart rate increased to a dangerous level, and I wanted to be sure you didn't get hurt. It wouldn't be ideal for the investigation."

She closed her eyes and reached out with one hand to steady herself against the wall. "Right," she tilted her head back slightly. "Well, I'm fine." she turned around in a circle and took a deep breath. "Actually, no I’m not _._ I’m pissed off."

Just as he was trying to calculate the best way to answer, she continued on. "What is his fucking problem? I can’t believe he talked to you and I like that."

Connor spoke up. "It means nothing to me," he said. "I can't feel emotions, you didn't need to-"

"That’s not the point, Connor,” she cut him off, raising her hand. “He's always been like that, with Hank, and now with me. Hell, he and I used to be _friends_. I don’t know when the switch flipped and he thought it was okay to start acting like that."

Connor didn't say anything, but he noticed the more she spoke, the more her heart rate steadied, her voice lost it's edge. "And you know what else?" she whirled around to face him and he half expected her to take out her aggression on him, until she spoke. "I don't care who you are or what you are, I'm not letting him speak to my _partner_ like that."

"While I appreciate your concern for my well-being, I have to insist that anything you feel is unkind means nothing to me-" Connor began, but was cut off again.

"You can try to be rational about it all you want, but it doesn't matter. It's fucked up."

Turning away from him, she stared out the window at the streets below, taking a few deep breaths and running her fingers through her hair. It was a few moments before she said anything, and when she pivoted around finally, she took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry that I.....lost my temper," she said. "It just wasn't the day for me to put up with him. Not after those bullshit interviews."

Connor had been surprised to see her so angry, and so _open_. "No apology is necessary. You've always been much more reserved in your emotions than Lieutenant Anderson. This has been a valuable learning experience in unpredictable human behavior. "

Detective Martin gave a short, cold, laugh. "It takes a lot to get under my skin. But I’ll make sure to lose my shit more often for your sake."

“That won’t be necessa-”

“I’m joking,” she cut him off, and Connor registered her sarcasm a tad too late. Maybe it had been too soon to speak about his adaptive social programming. There was much to understand, still. She looked back out the window.

Connor weighed his options, and decided changing the subject might be a good way to keep her from getting upset.

"Detective Martin-" he began.

"Barbara," she corrected him, cringing. "Call me Barbara, _please_."

"Barbara," as usual, the words felt uncomfortable, too casual. He reminded himself this was an order from her directly. "May I ask you a personal question?"

"Depends on the question," she said again, leaning against the wall. "Shoot."

"You used to work in homicides," he began. "Why'd you ask to be transferred to work with deviants?"

"I was working in narcotics for awhile....I didn't ask to be assigned to work on the deviant investigation, it just worked out that way," she explained. Connor considered his response.

Her face fell though, eyes growing distant as she continued. "You know, when I started as a rookie, I had all this fire in me to solve the cases, the Detroit Sun used to call me the DPD's _Phoenix_ ," she snorted, crossing her arms.

"Sometimes you'd never find enough evidence to solve a case, and you failed.  But to me, it was a game, like finding the missing pieces to a puzzle. And if I couldn't put it together, I just moved on to the next one."

Barbara didn’t meet his eyes, staring at the floor as she continued. Her hand raised to fiddle with the collar of her blouse absentmindedly. It was almost as though she was reasoning with herself, not him.

"One day, I was interviewing a woman, the mother of teenage girl who'd been murdered while walking home from work. This woman.....she was absolutely incoherent, just _lost_ ....it was like she'd died along with her daughter. In the middle of the interview, some part of my brain switched on that I'd never acknowledged before. I'd never thought too much about the victims, or the people they'd left behind. To me, it had always been objective. But then it just..... _wasn't._

"Every unsolved case haunted me after that. There was someone out there who'd done this horrible thing, who could and probably _would_ do it again. The victims and their families would never get justice. And _I_ was responsible, ‘cause I didn't do my job well enough.”

If Connor could have been stunned, he would have been due to the amount of information she'd just shared with him. He had several follow-up questions, but he didn't want to push his luck. This wasn't the time to ask, he concluded. And since she was considerably more relaxed now, the storm of emotions had passed and it was probably time to continue working.

“Anyways….from what I’ve seen so far, the androids in these deviancy cases are experiencing some kind of trauma,” Barbara shook her head. “I can’t help but feel like….especially after today….some of their actions might be justified.” Her bottom lip drew between her teeth and she inhaled slowly.

**Software Instability ^**

Connor shook the indicator out of his line of sight as he processed her words.

“They’re still committing crimes,” he answered, trying to be as firm as possible without blatantly offending her. He couldn’t have a partner who was sympathizing with the deviants. “Every emotion they’re feeling is just a virus in their programming.”

“Right, I know.” she answered, staring distantly at some spot on the wall, almost like she was looking past it, teeth meeting her lower lip. She shook her head and finally afforded him some eye contact. “I better get back to my desk.”

Barbara walked towards him, back in the direction of where they worked, but she paused once she was at his side, reaching out to briefly squeeze his upper arm. "Thanks for checking on me," she said, the warmth of her hand radiating through his jacket. This came as a shock to him, he'd never been touched unless it was out of aggression, or necessity. He felt instantly that this was different, meant to be a kind gesture, but it seemed….. _incorrect_ for some reason, misplaced.

It mattered little in the grand scheme of things. They had to solve this case, and Amanda wouldn’t be pleased to learn about how the interviews had panned out. He’d have to come up with something more concrete before his next debrief with her. CyberLife’s future depended on it. On _him_. He hadn’t forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't have much to say, except for I'm sorry for making Gavin an asshole. I hated him when I first watched playthroughs of the game but unfortunately the fandom has made him such a loveable asshole it kind of pains me to do this? Dammit!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the long chapter. I considered breaking it up, but since the game storyline is only a portion of this fic's plot, I am trying to keep the number of game chapters to a minimum. Even though this chapter isn't a part of the game's storyline AT ALL. You know what I'm getting at...
> 
> Also, in real life I'm not a detective unfortunately. As much as I've tried to do research on police protocols, it can be hard to find that kind of stuff online. So if you see any glaring issues, bear with me! I am learning.
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://from-the-clouds.tumblr.com) (@from-the-clouds). Here is a link to this fic's [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLvB0pQ_9KkzKIWFSUZ42ZOK7dSM68UcIg).


	5. 5 | Pursuit

**CHAPTER 5: PURSUIT**

**NOVEMBER 4, 2038**

**4:16 PM**

The hallway was deserted. Or so it seemed.

The place was uninhabitable. It seemed unlikely even an android would be able to remain among the filth where she stood. Feathers coated the rotting floors, and dust hung so thick in the air Barbara could taste it with each inhale, stale and heady. This place hadn’t seen sunlight in years.

Barbara was expecting -- and had been almost excited -- to get off work at a normal hour for the first time this week. The last few days had been a lot for her to comprehend, filled with plenty of action and a surprising amount of emotion. Since transferring from homicides, she'd gotten pretty good at being just engaged _enough_ with the cases she was assigned to. Between the time spent in the field and in the office during this investigation, however, she was being _forced_ to care, and had little time to decompress each evening.

_Yesterday_ had been embarrassing for a number of reasons, but she was trying her best to move forward with as much dignity as possible, and didn't want to dwell on the past. That was proving to be difficult, since in her weakened emotional state she’d essentially word-vomited her entire life story to Connor, when all he had asked was a simple question. Now, he was likely analyzing her even more closely now, trying to determine her sanity. She was scolding herself for losing her composure. It would have been in her best interest to tell him to get lost when she’d first seen him standing at the end of the hallway. She flinched at the harshness of her own suggestion. That almost seemed too cruel to do to Connor.

Today, Barbara had been excited to leave the precinct, to go home and make herself a nice dinner, maybe even have a glass of wine. She was just beginning to mentally check out for the day when Connor received a report of a suspected deviant only a few blocks away. Her plans for the evening went out the window, and she accepted defeat.

Sighing, Barbara straightened from her position crouched at the end of the hallway, trying to look for some signs of life, footprints on the dirty floor or debris that had been stirred by movement. _Nothing._

Connor and Hank stood at the opposite end of the hallway, doing the same. It seemed as though their relationship was becoming less contentious, even just in the span of a few days, which she appreciated. The only downside was that she’d been unable to get Hank alone for even a few moments to see where his mind was at. But she supposed it didn’t really matter.

Hank began moving back towards her, Connor close at his heels. Despite his and Hank’s strained relationship, Connor still seemed to prefer the grouchy lieutenant’s company to hers. Maybe it was because Hank was a higher ranking officer.

"So, what exactly are we looking for?" Hank asked.

“Whoever lives underneath this unit reported footsteps, and a neighbor thought they saw a man hiding an LED under a baseball cap,” Connor said, appearing to absentmindedly scan the hallway, despite their already thorough walkthrough. “But, no one is supposed to be living on this floor.”

“I would hope not,” Hank scoffed.

Barbara hacked on a particularly particle-filled inhale, then cleared her throat. “Would even an android be able to live someplace like this? The air quality can’t be healthy for _anything_.”

Connor blinked once before answering. “Androids don’t _have_ to breathe unless they’re overheating, in which case they’re all equipped with air purifiers to filter out anything that may damage their biocomponents.”

“Fascinating,” Hank grumbled under his breath at the mention of androids. So, he still wasn’t quite _there_ one-hundred percent. Barbara would’ve been concerned if he was.

Barbara thought of the plaque on the exterior of the building she’d skimmed over before they’d gotten inside. It was a historic landmark, an old office building that now functioned as an apartment complex. “You know,” she began. “I saw as we were coming up here that this building has been here since 1876. Which can only mean a lot of people have died here. It _could_ just be a ghost.”

Hank chuckled as he stepped in front of the only doorway in the small hallway, while Connor stared at her blankly. “Barbara, I appreciate your contribution,” he began, rather stiffly. “However, there is no scientific evidence to suggest the existence of ‘ghosts’,” he raised his hands to make unintentionally condescending air quotations.  

“First of all, I was kidding,” Barbara countered. She watched Connor’s LED cycle yellow very briefly, but he didn’t answer her, turning abruptly to face the door to the apartment.

Lifting his hand, Connor rapped his knuckles on the door. Unconsciously, Barbara's hand moved to rest on the holster at her hip. The eerily quiet building made her unsettled. If there was something behind the door, she suspected it knew they were there.

Connor knocked again, this time, with more force. "This is the DPD, open up!" he called out.

Hank locked eyes with Barbara, glancing at the hand on her gun and back up to her eyes. It was enough communication for him to know she was ready for something to go wrong. Barbara felt a rare moment of assurance, one that only came from unspoken words passed between two partners who had years of experience together.

When a loud crash sounded on the other side of the door, Barbara’s instincts proved to be right, and Hank gave her a quick nod.

"Behind me, both of you," Barbara instructed, drawing her gun and stepping in front of Connor, squaring up with the door.

"Okay,” Connor said as he moved a step backward, and Hank drew his gun as well before she moved forward.

While many perks of her job had long ago lost their luster, for some reason, she could never get enough of kicking in a door. It was an old classic. Lifting her leg up, she used the heel of her boot to batter it open, and it offered very little resistance as it gave way to a dark, empty corridor, the musty smell of mold and animal remains practically burning her nostrils. A human certainly couldn't live in these conditions.

Glancing over her shoulder, she nodded at her two partners to follow her as she cleared the first room to her right, moving down the short hallway to another door, which she also booted open. Inside was a kitchen area with a bathroom to her left. There were remnants of furniture scattered throughout the space, and although Hank and Connor were right behind her, she had to make sure it was safe before she could properly examine any evidence. When she saw that the bathroom to her right was empty, she lowered her gun and turned back to Hank.

"What the fuck is this?" he hissed, irritated, as the origin of feathers and smell of the flat suddenly became apparent, at least a hundred pigeons were roosting in the kitchen area, having flown in through an open window. Startled by the volume of his voice, a few took flight as they searched for a way out of the room, and Hank stumbled backwards away from them.

Connor began to walk around the perimeter of the room as Hank lowered his shoulders in defeat, on edge surrounded by the birds. Barbara could’ve sworn that he once told her he had ornithophobia, so she was sure this was hell for him. "There’s nothin’ here," he poked his head in the bathroom and turned back to her.

"It would appear so,” she said, hesitantly holstering her weapon. “We should probably still take a look around.”

Barbara focused again on Connor, who'd picked up what looked to be a driver’s license off of a weathered bookshelf. Approaching him from behind, she peered over his shoulder.

"This is a fake," he said, looking down at her, and placing it carefully back where he'd found it, turning around and walking towards the kitchen sink. Barbara picked it up. _Rupert Travis_.

“What, androids can use _IDGod_ , too?” Barbara muttered to Hank, who stepped alongside her as she faced towards the center of the room, again. She recalled the website the majority of her friends and herself had spent plenty of time with before they were legal adults.

“How do you know about that site?” Hank asked her.

“I shadowed some officers at University of Michigan when I was in the academy,” she answered. “And….I _was_ under 21 at one point in my life.”

“Jesus, kid,” he said, but smirked slightly. “How did your parents manage you?”

Barbara snorted and turned to walk past Hank towards the kitchen. “Trust me, they had bigger priorities.”

Watching Connor move about the apartment was intriguing. She'd never really witnessed him investigate a crime scene before, and even though this wasn't exactly one, it was still interesting to watch him work. Picking up an empty box of bird seed, he handed it to her. "Something's been feeding them."

"I doubt any human would want to come up here to feed pigeons," she said to him, putting the box back where it had sat after turning it over in her hands once. "But why would an android take the time to feed wild animals?"

"A deviant could," he answered as she followed him to a jacket that was hanging on the leg of an overturned chair. "The simulated emotions caused by the errors in their programming could make them feel compassionate towards living creatures," he paused. "The irony is that they aren't alive themselves."

Barbara frowned as she watched him lift the military jacket off the chair to study it. Something about his words were so methodical, almost robotic in his last sentence. She shivered. "That's quite a harsh thing to say about your own kind."

"It's the truth. I'm just a machine, Barbara," he answered. "My only obligation is to help you and Hank with the investigation, and complete my mission." The low light of the room cast a dark shadow under his high cheekbones, his tone cool.

He didn't pause for long before speaking up again, changing the subject as he lowered the jacket back onto the chair. "R.T.," he said. "Probably initials."

Barbara took a few steps away from him, taken aback by the bluntness of his response. After their conversation yesterday, the first time she'd opened up to a coworker in years, this felt like a punch in the gut. She felt winded. Just as she was starting to get used to having him around. She should have known better.

“ _Rupert Travis_ ,” was all she could manage, voice mumbled and barely above a whisper.

“Excuse me?” Connor asked, turning towards her.

“That was the name on the ID right?” she said. “That’s the name of your guy.”

Barbara stepped away, then, walking to the area with open windows and a breakfast nook. In desperate need of fresh air, the smell of pigeon shit and rotting wood was making her stomach turn. Typically, she could handle unpleasant sights and smells, you pretty much had to if you worked in law enforcement. Right now, though, there was something beyond the environment that was making her uneasy.

Bending forward, she placed her hands on the cold windowsill, and watched her breath evaporate into the brisk breeze, head dropping to stare at the narrow brick corridor several stories below.

A crow landed on the fire escape of a building across the small alley. It tilted it's head, eyed Barbara, but it wasn't startled off. Dread rolled over her like dark storm clouds, and she ducked back inside the apartment.

_You're being ridiculous_ , she scolded herself as she watched Hank step into the bathroom and look at the wall.

"Any idea what it means?" Hank took the words from her mouth as she widened her eyes. _rA9_ , written over hundreds of times in obsessive, anxious writing covered the bathroom floor to ceiling. It looked like the same frantic writing she'd seen in the photos of Carlos Ortiz's bathroom. Incredibly neat, eerily so.

"rA9, written 2,471 times," Connor observed. "Ortiz's android wrote the same word in his shower. I still have yet to determine what it means."

Barbara scanned the kitchen area and living space absentmindedly, her eyes falling on a poster covering a large fissure in the drywall that exposed the wooden framework of the building. Frowning, she looked closer at the poster, an advertisement for Detroit's Urban Farms.

The Urban Farming District, of course. The building she stood in was right the middle of it. When she was much younger, and the project had just started up, it had boosted the Detroit economy significantly for the first time in decades. Citizens were excited. The urban farm movement created hundreds of jobs, and supplied consumers with fresher produce at a lower price. Once android popularity began growing, and CyberLife headquartered itself within the city, human employees were phased out.

Stepping closer to the poster, she peeled it back carefully and it fell off the wall. Her eyes widened when she saw a small brown notebook nestled between two wooden planks. It was leather-bound, worn, and she picked it up, flipping it over before opening it. Each page was covered in numbers and symbols she didn't recognize. The same feeling of dread washed over her from before, she'd seen similar things in the homes of serial killers or cult members; frenzied, manic drabble that meant nothing to anyone but the writer of the text.

This, however, was much neater, almost as if it was printed by a computer - immaculate handwriting, clean lines, even margins on each side of the page.

"Find something?" she heard Connor's husky voice in her ear and jumped. He’d approached so quietly she hadn’t heard him, and she had been a little too focused on the enigma in her hands.

“This was hidden behind a poster," she said, shifting the book in her hands and thumbing through the pages. His nose wrinkled slightly as he examined the piece of evidence, such a _human_ way of expressing confusion. "Any of this make sense to you?"

He shook his head no. "It's indecipherable....may I?" she allowed him to take it from her hands and look through it himself, but he didn't get far before he apparently gave up and placed it in his back pocket. "We can take a closer look back at the station."

Connor then fixated on a overturned birdcage on the floor, staring intently as he reconstructed the events that had brought it to its current condition, his eyes eventually drawing upwards to a hole in the ceiling, a chair underneath.

Hank cursed again, complaining about the birds that cooed and fluttered about, seemingly more interested in getting the fuck out of this place than investigating. She didn’t really blame him, and the place seemed deserted anyhow.

Connor took one step forward, studying the space in the ceiling, when suddenly, a body sprung forward from it, knocking him off his feet and back onto his elbows, sending the entire flock of pigeons flying about the room. Barbara crouched and wrapped her head in her hands to avoid the wings and appendages of the birds that now were circling her.

This threw Hank into an almost full-blown anxiety attack, the string of profanities that left his mouth rather impressive as the majority of the fowl cleared the apartment space through the open kitchen window.

Connor bolted out the door after the deviant, and Barbara groaned inwardly as she followed after him. Hank was close on her heels, but she knew he would be unlikely to keep up with her, and she would be lucky if she could keep eyes on Connor. He burst through the exit door onto the roof in hot pursuit of the suspect.

She dropped down off the roof into a crop of wheat, and felt her ankle twist in an unnatural direction, pretending like it didn’t hurt for the sake of continuing on. She’d always been good at hiding pain.

Connor's black and blue jacket weaved through the workers and machinery, that was the only thing she was focused on, the only thing that indicated where to charge forward. It was good she'd been upping her cardio at the gym recently, because she had a feeling this wasn't going to end after a nice little jog. And unlike androids, at some point, she’d run out of energy.

There were too many obstacles, too many moving parts in the urban farm setting. It'd be easy for the deviant to lose them if he wanted too. Dodging equipment and vehicles as they came and jumping over walls, she had to have been sprinting for at least a few minutes when she finally came upon a significant drop-off, which Connor had jumped down into without so much as a pause.

As she neared the edge, she screeched to a halt. There was a train below her, moving quickly, but she knew she was unlikely to make the jump if she tried, let alone onto the moving train where Connor was currently balancing himself. If she wasn't out of breath and contemplating her next move, she might have taken a moment to acknowledge how.... _badass_ he looked. He jumped onto the same ladder of a fire escape as the deviant, who was flipping over a wall into an apple orchard.

"Fuck," Hank was suddenly beside her, his hand on her shoulder as he bent over, breathing heavily. "I think I know where it's headed, come with me."

Barbara didn't need to be told twice as she and Hank took a detour around the farm. He knew the city a lot better than she did, and she was following him closely as he led the way, down a staircase into a more secluded area with less people and obstacles.

As they made their way back up towards the roof of one of the buildings, climbing a corridor lined with uneven stairs and slick with ice, her ankle gave out on her again and she yelped, faltering, her hand clutching the sensitive area, her opposite arm bracing herself against the wall.

"Go!" she yelled when she saw Hank pause to look back at her, her tone was a bit harsh in the heat of the moment, but she knew he would forgive her.

It was maybe a couple second delay before she’d steadied herself, but she heard Hank struggling with someone through the door to the roof and when it burst open, all she saw was the deviant running across the rooftop and she was on it. Barbara would realize later that if she had only turned her head slightly to her right, she'd have seen her partner clinging for his life on the edge of the building. In the moment, she wasn’t considering Hank’s whereabouts.

No. There weren't emotions involved now. This wasn't the AX400, this was one suspect she was going to catch. It was time to put an end to this. Leaping down effortlessly into an area with solar panels and then down again into a field of smaller crops, she was finally close enough to lunge towards the deviant, tackling him to the ground.

Barbara didn't know what she was expecting, but it wasn't the surprising strength of the suspect beneath her, who somehow wrestled away. It was going to run again, she thought, until a firm hand wrapped around her neck and she was suddenly pinned to the ground. Out of breath from the chase, she gasped for air as she was choked out, frantically kicking her legs, one hand bracing against the shoulder of her attacker so she wasn't forced to bare the whole brunt of his weight. Her other hand slid alongside her body in an attempt to retrieve her gun from it's holster as her vision began to black out.

The frenetic panic she'd felt as she tried to get out from underneath him changed quickly into something more desperate, an anxiety only felt when one was faced with death, a rush of adrenaline and an overwhelming sense of trepidation. It was something Barbara had only felt a handful of times before, more than the average person simply because of her line of work. It was never something that could be expected. The lack of oxygen being supplied to her brain was making any sort of escape next to impossible.

The deviant was hoisted off her before she could pull her weapon, vaguely aware of Hank towering above as he apprehended the android. Barbara rolled over, lightheaded, as she gasped for air and blinked, her eyes suddenly processing the bright sunshine again, the chill, damp earth beneath her.

Snippets of Hank hauling the deviant to its feet with it's arms behind it's back, black splotches scattered across her vision as she clutched fistfuls of the soil she lay on and greedily sucked in lungfuls of air, trying to find some leverage to pull herself off the ground. There was a hand on her shoulder, a soft voice in her ear.

“Careful,” Connor said, and she realized he was knelt beside her as she processed her surroundings. "Your brain has been deprived of oxygen for nearly one minute, you may collapse if you stand up too soon."

When she sat up, he moved away slightly, but was still looking down at her. His eyebrows were knit together in a display of concern, and half of her wanted to shove him away. _Fuck him_ for acting like he cared. His expression was so convincing, and she might have believed it if it weren't for what he'd said to her only minutes ago. This was all a facade, some command inside him was telling him to _Comfort The Human_ , and she was pissed that it was kind of working. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she assured, trying to qualm her rather violent thoughts, and a hand came into her line of sight. She took it and Connor helped her to her feet. The second she was straightened up, she whirled around to find the deviant, who was looking down, away from her eyes as she stepped towards it.

"I'm sorry," it mumbled. _Rupert Travis._ She remembered his -- _it’s_ \--name. It was hard to tell with its cap on that it wasn’t human. Dark hair poked out from underneath the hat, wide and stunned eyes stared back out at her. _It_ looked like a runaway teenager, lost and afraid. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I just saw you reaching for your gun and I-."

"Stop talking," Hank hissed, and Barbara knew better than to lose her temper. She was angry, of course, but no good would come of a reaction, so she just looked at Hank, who stared at her, concerned but still focused on the task at hand. Backing away, she remained silent as Connor stepped forward towards the android.

"Please," it said, looking up at Connor. “They’re going to shut me down if you turn me in, I don’t want to die-"

"Model 874 004 961," Connor began, his voice robotic and unrelenting. "You've been deemed defective, and will be sent back to CyberLife for deactivation."

"So you’re the deviant hunter, then? I’ve heard stories about you," Rupert hissed. "You're one of us-" he said to Connor. “How could you do this?”

"Quiet," Hank growled, but Rupert fought against his restraints, lunging forward to get closer to Connor, whose expression was unreadable as he stepped just out of its way.

"These humans are just _using_ you," he lowered his voice. "You can stop all of this, you can free yourself-"

"I said _shut up_ ." Hank knocked the deviant over the head as Connor continued to stare it down, a tension hung in the air and Barbara wondered briefly if those words meant anything to him. She didn’t really think she was using Connor. If anything, he was more invested in his work than she and Hank were. If it weren't for him, they probably wouldn't have come _here_ in the first place. Of course, there _were_ humans that treated androids poorly, she was learning that more and more everyday. But Connor seemed unaffected, turning rigidly on his heel.

"Let’s get out of here," Hank said, his voice returning. They began walking back towards the roof, Barbara suddenly aware of the tenderness in her ankle. All she needed to do was ice and elevate it, and she'd be fine. But fuck if it wasn't painful.

"rA9, save me," she faintly heard the android mumble and then all the sudden it was out of Hank's grasp, running towards the edge of the rooftop and then flinging itself off.

It all happened so fast, she barely had time to react, but Connor and Hank had already pursued it, stopping short as it hit the ground below them. There was the sickening noise of a crash and a car alarm going off.

In her life, she’d only ever watched a handful of people die. It wasn't something that you ever fully could comprehend, she’d never really wanted to. Right now, even though Rupert wasn't a person, she didn't feel any different. Something dark gripped at her insides, threatened to take over. But she pushed it away.

Refusing to look at the scene below her, Barbara focused on the Detroit skyline, the buildings peppering the horizon. Looming in the distance, the Cyberlife tower ascended over the rest of the urban plane, watching over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed some of the dialogue in this scene just to make things more interesting. Please let me know what you think! I'm excited for upcoming chapters, things will really start coming together!
> 
> I tried to get out several chapters to begin with, but I probably will only be able to update now 1x every week or so, so bare with me. I have a lot already written but I like to take my time editing and planning for the future and don't want to rush anything. 
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://from-the-clouds.tumblr.com) (@from-the-clouds). Here is a link to this fic's [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLvB0pQ_9KkzKIWFSUZ42ZOK7dSM68UcIg).


	6. 6 | Accord

**CHAPTER 6 | ACCORD**

**NOVEMBER 5, 2038**

**11:58 PM**

**Connor** knocked on the door in front of him for the third time, much louder and more aggressive than his first two attempts, and frowned when he heard nothing on the other side. Checking the DPD directory he'd downloaded into his memory, he made sure he was at the right apartment...and confirmed that he was.

When he knocked a fourth time, he heard a voice, muffled through one of the walls in the hallway.

_"They aren't fucking home, goddamnit!"_

Only a moment later, he heard rustling behind the door in front of him, the click of a lock. The door only cracked open slightly, halting when the chain lock was pulled taut. A thin slice of light hit her eye, only half her face visible, and she squinted. Connor stared back, peering into the darkened apartment.

"Connor?" Barbara's voice came out in a hoarse whisper, raspy and quiet. "What are you doing here?"

"Barbara, there's been-"

"Hold on," she closed the door to unlatch the chain, and opened it again, this time wide enough so he could see the square glasses perched on her nose and her mussed hair, a wily wave falling in her eyes before she pushed it back. It was quite strange to see her like this, so unkempt, leaning against the doorframe, her eyes squinting against the harsh light of the hallway. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, her hands clutched at each shoulder, holding herself. "What's going on?"

"A man has been killed at one of the Eden Clubs downtown," Connor began. "Officers believe there may have been an android involved. We need to go investigate. I tried calling both you and Hank, but neither of you answered."

"Okay," she answered under her breath, staring at the floor for a few moments, brows furrowed together and eyes barely open as she took in his quick debrief. " _Oh_ ," she said a moment later, as if she was finally comprehending what he'd said. "Could you give me a couple minutes?"

"Of course," Connor nodded, and she opened the door wider, stepping backwards and gesturing to the hallway she stood in.

"Come inside," she said. He stepped into the foyer of the apartment as she flickered on the light and squinted again, yawning.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, though it was very clear to him he had.

"Kind of," she said. "I think I was asleep, maybe…" She was clad in a sweatshirt that nearly swallowed her, hanging to mid-thigh, grey shorts poking out from underneath. On one of her feet there was a sock, the other foot was wrapped in an ace bandage.

"How is your ankle?" Connor asked. He recalled that she'd injured it during the chase, and had been limping on it afterwards.

"It's fine," she said dismissively. "This happens every year or so. I sprained it once when I was 14 and it's never been quite right since. The human body is an amazing thing."

Connor chuckled, relieved to hear the hint of humor in her voice, and the additional information he hadn't asked for. The past day or so she'd been especially distant, and he still wasn't quite sure what had triggered it. Just when he thought they'd built some kind of camaraderie, she recoiled. Perhaps CyberLife hadn't thoroughly tested how well he could adapt to unpredictable human behavior, or maybe there was something wrong with him in particular.

Amanda had seemed disappointed in him. More than usual. It had been raining in the zen garden, rumblings of something dark loomed over them. It was becoming less and less a pleasant place each time he visited. Sometimes, Connor felt like she could see right through him. If that was the case, he wondered if their meetings were just a formality, only existing to remind him of his purpose. But he _knew_ his purpose.

In the two days since chasing the deviant across the urban farming district, Connor felt... _different_. He was running diagnostics, but his systems weren't reporting any irregularities. As much as he knew he should trust the results, he didn't think he completely could.

Connor had saved Hank when he'd been dangling off the side of the building. He could have chased after the deviant, but he didn't. Without Lieutenant Anderson, there wouldn't be anyone to lead the investigation. So ultimately, the decision had been best in order to continue the mission.

He'd watched Barbara getting strangled, and instead of helping Hank apprehend the deviant, he'd checked first to make sure she was okay. Something about the sight of her purple cheeks and rapidly decreasing heartbeat had activated his first aid protocols. That was the most logical explanation.

Connor's own justifications for his actions seemed legitimate, but he was also was curious why he felt the need to justify them in the first place.

_These humans are just_ _using_ _you. You can stop all of this, you can free yourself_ _,_ the deviant had said as it fought against Hank's restraints. It was all _nonsense_ , Connor knew, it would have said anything to escape it's inevitable deactivation, but when he was idle, he found himself focused on that particular memory.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Barbara asked, and then caught herself. "Don't answer that, my brain still isn't working right." Connor didn't answer, but found her manners a little surprising.

She turned on her heel and waved for him to follow her deeper into the home. It was tidy, except for the few pieces of evidence that indicated her presence in the space, like the half-empty mug of peppermint tea on a table, a balled up blanket on the couch next to it.

"I'll only be a few minutes," Barbara said, and walked through her kitchen to a doorway that likely led to her bedroom, the soft pattering of her feet growing faint as she retreated, closing the door behind her. A moment later, he heard the click of a light switch and water running.

Connor scanned the space. In front of him, the exposed brick walls had two large windows, one next to the dining table, a small balcony beyond that, the other one behind a TV in her living area. Both looked out over the nearly vacant street as snow came down outside.

Connor looked at the built-in bookshelves that lined the wall of her living area, filled with books, trinkets, and an expansive record collection. He knew what records were, but from what he understood, they were a little old-fashioned. There were so many other ways to listen to music now, it struck Connor as inconvenient. Next to the bookshelves was a table with a record player on top, a guitar stood on a stand next to it, collecting dust. She liked music, he observed. Hank did as well. Perhaps that may be a good conversation starter in the future.

The decorations elsewhere were minimalistic, but clearly curated with great care, paintings of animals, trees, and flowers; framed personal photos. In one, she was sitting dangerously close to the edge of a cliff, arm in the air, smiling as the wind splayed her hair in all directions, another friend beside her with their arms wrapped around her shoulders. Another where he could barely identify her in full SCUBA gear amongst a brightly colored coral reef.

Barbara was clearly younger in the photos, her face rounder and less defined, her smile fully reaching her eyes, beaming bright. Connor had never witnessed this kind of happiness radiating from her so openly. If he were human, it might have made him somber.

A large painting above and behind her couch caught her eye, of a man standing on a balcony, his arms spread wide as he looked over a city with a smile playing on his lips, his long, curly blonde hair blowing in the wind. Either it was a painting of someone unknown, or deceased. His identification program could not analyze photos of people who had long since passed away.

He heard Barbara's footsteps approaching again, though they were faint she stepped behind him to observe the photo. She smelled faintly of soap and mouthwash. "That's Robert Plant. He was a singer," her face fell slightly. "My dad had a similar poster in his house when I was little. I grew up thinking he was a God, or something."

Connor didn't understand about half of what she said. Pop cultural references were something he had to do research on himself, that information wasn't a part of his constantly growing database. He discerned that was the first time he'd ever heard Barbara mention her family.

He watched an emotion flicker quickly across Barbara's eyes as she regarded the photo...was it sadness? Even when most humans tried to hide their emotions, Connor was able to decipher them, but Barbara's continued to be an enigma. The only moments where it had been clear what she was feeling was after her altercation with Detective Reed at the station, and even then, after she was vulnerable in front of Connor, she composed herself quickly and went back to her desk like nothing had happened. She'd avoided him for the rest of the day.

"May I ask a personal question?" he said, curious.

"No, I don't keep in touch with my father," she answered, her voice was laced with some venom, but Connor didn't perceive it to be directed at him. "Is that what you were going to ask?" she turned to him, her tone lighter.

Connor smiled slightly. "Yes."

"I'm one step ahead of you. Looks like we're _both_ figuring each other out," she quipped, and Connor was a little startled by her observation. He didn't realize his attempts to read her had been so obvious, but she _was_ a detective after all, very attentive. He'd have to act with more discretion in the future.

Focused back on the mission, Connor turned back to her. She'd pulled her hair back in a low bun and put on a light blue sweater and dark jeans, the glasses she'd worn before gone. "I'm ready."

He nodded, and she walked towards her coat hanger, wrapping a black scarf around her neck and pulling on a matching beanie. "I can drive us to Hank's."

As she pulled a long black coat on over her shoulders, she took a deep breath, bending down to tuck her jeans into boots and tying them tightly. "I can't guarantee what kind of state he's going to be in. It's a Friday night, so I can almost promise you he's been drinking."

"The day before you were assigned to the case, I had to pick him up at Jimmy's Bar," Connor revealed as she grabbed her keys from the hook next to a light switch.

She snorted. "Lucky you. I guess it's a good thing I wasn't on the case yet," she said, grabbing her keys. Connor followed her out the door.

There was a parking garage below her building and they took the elevator down. Barbara remained mostly silent, yawning a few times. She watched Connor's hands intently as he pulled out the coin, passing it between his hands, flipping it in the air.

"Can you drive?" she asked him as they stepped out of the elevator into the garage.

"Do you want me to, or are you asking if I'm able to?"

"If you're able to," she clarified.

"It's one of my features, yes," Connor answered. "If I were ever pursuing a suspect in a vehicle, I'd need to be able to operate one."

"That makes sense," she nodded. "I guess they thought of everything."

"You could say that," he agreed. She unlocked her car, a slightly beat up, blue Jetta. "Though I am only CyberLife's prototype for my specific model."

"Prototype," she repeated, getting inside, and Connor copied her actions on the passenger side. Shutting the door, the echo from the garage was no longer apparent in the hollow vehicle. "So if you don't live up to their standards, then what happens?"

Connor thought about this, though he knew the answer was pretty clear. "I suppose I'd be studied to pinpoint any issues before being deactivated."

Barbara turned to him, her nose wrinkling. "Okay, I've heard you say that before, but what exactly does being deactivated mean for an android?"

Connor considered her question a beat before answering. "To put it simply, I suppose it would be comparable to a human dying."

Barbara's eyes widened. "So they'd kill you, essentially?"

The abundance of inquiries - from her of all people - was somewhat out of character, but she seemed curious, and he wanted to do his best to give her answers. "That's a callous way of saying it...but yes," he answered coolly, watching her fumble with her keys.

"That doesn't freak you out at all?" she halted her movements, her hands falling to her lap.

Connor shrugged. The question was difficult to answer. Of course, he wasn't emotional about it, but it also wouldn't be ideal. He thought of his conversation with Amanda earlier. "I would rather be successful than be upgraded. But, no...it doesn't _freak me out_ ," he repeated her words. There was some human slang he still had yet to fully understand, especially since it was a constantly developing language.

"I guess you're better off not having emotions, then," she said, laughing bitterly. Frowning, Barbara pursed her lips before she started the car, letting it run for a minute before she turned on the heat and rubbed her hands together, shivering. "You know, I thought I was going to die on Thursday."

Connor turned to look at her, to find her eyes on already on him. "I meant to thank you, for being there. I'm sorry I didn't."

"You don't have to be sorry," Connor answered, then added. "And you didn't have to thank me, either."

"Yeah, I don't _have_ to do a lot of things," she shot back. "But I _should_ have."

Avoiding his eyes, she leaned forward as she fiddled with the radio, putting on an alternative station, before buckling her seatbelt. Underneath the withdrawn, aloof exterior, she was surprisingly kind. There wasn't much he could do with this information...but it seemed useful.

As she pulled out of the garage, the radio switched songs, and Barbara reached for the volume knob, turning it up.

"You like music," Connor stated. "I saw all your records."

"Yeah," She said. "Don't you?"

"I've only ever heard what Hank listens to," Connor shrugged.

"Knights of Death Metal, that crap?" Barbara wrinkled her nose.

"They're called Knights of Black Death," Connor corrected her, he'd analyzed the artist the Lieutenant often played in his car. "I don't mind them."

"You don't have to lie to me," she rolled her eyes. "It's just noise..." she reached for volume knob, turning it up. "This is a good song."

Connor listened carefully as she pulled out of the garage and into the darkened city, the lights on the street illuminating her face in short bursts as the car moved down the road, towards the highway. It was much softer, more ambient than the music Hank listened to.

Barbara was focused….on driving, or maybe the song...he couldn't tell, but her lips moved along to the lyrics during certain verses, eyes scanning around as she pulled onto the highway. At this hour, it was nearly deserted, so they picked up speed quickly, they'd likely be at Hank's only within ten minutes or so. Staring out the window, Connor leaned back stared at the Detroit skyline, all lit up and glowing in the dark.

_Yes I'm changing, can't stop it now_

_And even if I wanted I wouldn't know how_

_Another version of myself I think I found, at last_

"What do you think?" Barbara's voice cut in, and he turned to find her, she glanced over at him.

"It's nice," Connor said. "It's different from Hank's music _._ "

"Yeah, it's _better_ ," she joked.

The song faded out and she was silent again as something else switched on, and she turned the volume down.

For some reason he found himself dwelling on her question about being deactivated. _That doesn't freak you out at all?_ He didn't want to disappoint Amanda...that was obvious to him. It wouldn't be ideal. But there was another reason why he didn't want to fail...something he couldn't place, couldn't rationalize.

**Software Instability ^**

Connor thought it might be a good idea to run another diagnostic, but Barbara's voice interrupted him before he could.

"Alright, here we are," she said, pulling up in front of a one-story bungalow. A car was haphazardly parked in the driveway. "You ready?" she asked, putting her car into park and zipping her coat up.

Connor nodded. "Let's go."

* * *

**NOVEMBER 6, 2038**

**12:33 AM**

"I can get you a glass of cold water to dump on him," **Barbara** offered, standing over Connor, hands on her hips. He was knelt over Hank, who was unconscious and clearly had drunk himself into a state, scotch spilled down the front of his shirt, a half-eaten hamburger on the counter.

"There might be a better way-" Connor began.

"Connor, we've already broken out his front window," she reasoned. "What's one little slap going to do? He's put you through a lot of shit, this might be cathartic..."

The truth was, Barbara probably couldn't bring herself wake Hank either. He was so wasted, there'd be no way to make it pleasant. She'd already had to pry a revolver with only one bullet in the chamber out of Hank's hand, an action that felt like a punch in the gut. Barbara didn't want to acknowledge how it broke her heart, she tried to focus on the task at hand, which was getting Hank ready to investigate the scene at the Eden Club. The presence of the weapon was a discussion for another time.

"Fine," Connor frowned. He was cute when he was frazzled, she thought. Well, he always was cute. Handsome, even. Distractingly so. She had tried not to acknowledge it at first, mostly because it didn't make much sense to her. Well, it did. But it had been another one of those things that she didn't like about him at first, another thing that made her uneasy; that he was _attractive_.

Most androids were designed to be aesthetically pleasing to look at. But Connor was _very_ good looking, almost pretty, with a sharp jawline, dimples, and big, inquisitive brown eyes. Every feature invited you in. The few imperfections he did have made him appear even _more_ human. A few freckles scattered across his nose, creases around his eyes when he smiled, and the damn piece of hair that always fell onto his forehead. She wondered briefly who was in charge of _that_ aspect of his design, and she decided she didn't care for them.

"Connor," she prompted him again and finally he reached out, lightly tapping Hank on the side of his face, who grunted but didn't wake up. Before she had to prompt him again, Connor pulled back his hand and slapped him again, more aggressively this time.

Hank grunted as he came to, blinking slowly as he took in his surroundings, dismayed at the sight of his two partners standing over him. "Lieutenant Anderson" Connor said sternly. "We're here to sober you up."

"Hey," Hank growled, annoyed, as Connor threw his arm over his shoulder and pulled him to a sitting position. "Don't fuckin' touch me."

"Get the fuck out of here," Hank said angrily, his speech slurring. Barbara decided to interject in case things got violence.

"Hank, we need you," Barbara urged as Connor lifted him to his feet. She snuck underneath his opposite arm to help support him. Hank smelled disgusting, like sweat and smoke and whiskey. He needed a cold shower and clean clothes, but she was kind of hoping that Connor would take on that responsibility, or else she didn't think she could ever look at him the same way again.

Hank wrestled against them, stringing together a web of profanities, all of them directed at Connor. She had thought that their relationship was getting a little less strained, but with Hank completely untethered and inebriated, it became clear that things weren't as good as they seemed.

Sumo barked, and Hank continued to lament being woken from his drunken stupor. "Sic 'em!" Hank commanded, but the dog trotted slowly beside them, and did nothing as they made their way into the bathroom. Hank had always loved to boast about how big and aggressive Sumo was, but in reality, he was just a docile ball of fur, deceivingly intimidating.

Connor propped Hank against the wall outside his bathroom, who groaned and held his stomach.

Stepping away from him quickly to avoid him in case he was sick, she moved into the bathroom behind Connor and pulled open the shower curtain. "Wow, it's disgusting in here," she observed. Barbara knew he wasn't the cleanest person, but Hank's house was in more of a disarray than she'd ever seen it. She watched Connor pull Hank into the room as he tried to brace himself against the doorframe.

"I'm not fuckin' going anywhere with you," he tried to resist but between his lack of coordination and Connor's strength, he was easily pulled along until he was sitting on the edge of the shower. Leaning down, Connor turned the cold water on.

Hank protested violently as the shower rained down on him, begging them to turn it off. Barbara had dealt with Hank in similar situations before, and it kind of felt like she was a rookie all over again. After a few moments Connor turned the water off as Hank gasped, rubbing his face and looking up, eyes focusing on his two partners standing over him.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"A homicide was reported 43 minutes ago," Connor explained. "I picked up Barbara and we came to get you."

Hank groaned and lifted himself out of the tub. "Can't you just leave me alone?" he glared at Connor.

"Hank, you've got to get your shit together," Barbara said. "We have a job to do."

Hank focused on her then, rising to his feet, suddenly more coordinated than she was expecting. "Babs, I've had enough of this fucking case," Hank said to her, his words running together. "I want you to get that fuckin' android the fuck out of here," he turned to Connor. "Don't you fuckin' hear me? Get the hell out of my house!"

His coordination timed out, and he toppled over. Surprisingly, Connor reached out to steady him, his hands on Hank's shoulders as he lowered him back to the ledge of the bathtub before backing away. Barbara was at a loss of words, unsettled by his cruelty towards their partner. Android or not, it was harsh.

"Hank-" she began, but Connor interrupted her.

"No, I get it," Connor said matter-of-factly. "In fact, it probably wouldn't appeal to him..." Connor turned as he walked towards the bathroom door. "A murder at a sex club downtown...I'm sure someone else can solve the case for us. Maybe Detective Reed..."

Barbara felt her mouth tug up in a smile, Connor's sarcasm so dry she'd barely registered it at first. Hank lifted his head slowly as he watched the android look at him over his shoulder. "Fuckin' Gavin. Maybe getting out there would help me sober up a bit," he held his stomach. "If someone wants to go in my bedroom, I've got some clothes in the closet…." Hank nodded at the door across the hallway.

"I've got it," Connor said, and left her and Hank alone.

She crossed her arms and watched him enter Hank's bedroom, leaving her alone with the inebriated lieutenant. He turned to focus on her, and Barbara spoke up. "I'd love to stay and watch this play out, but for the sake of your dignity I'm going to wait in the living room."

Hank rolled his eyes and swatted at her. "Smartass," he grumbled, but she could see the annoyance in his eyes was only surface-level.

Barbara left the room as Connor returned with the clothes. "I'll be down the hall," she told him, and he nodded. The sounds of Hank vomiting as she finished her sentence sent her practically sprinting down the hallway and into his family room.

Sitting on the couch, she focused on the news playing on the TV as Sumo approached and sat at her feet. Barbara chuckled and scratched him behind his ears. "You big baby," she murmured, glancing up when Connor entered the room.

"Everything okay?" she asked him.

Connor nodded. "He just needed a couple minutes."

"I'll say," she mumbled absentmindedly, watching Connor observe the room slowly, almost as if it were a crime scene. He moved methodically, with purpose, but not so rigid to be unsettling.

There were a few things he paused to look closer at, the records on his shelf, one of which was a vintage Frank Sinatra Barbara had bought Hank as a birthday present years before. Barbara recalled their shared love of collecting vinyl records had been one of the first things that they'd bonded over when Hank trained her as a rookie.

Connor moved into the kitchen, picking up a framed photo of Hank's son, Cole, then the revolver she'd disarmed and put on the kitchen table. She anticipated questions, and was surprised when he said nothing, just returned to where she sat. He knelt down where Sumo lay at her feet, petting him gingerly, he rolled over onto his back so Connor could scratch his stomach. Connor let out a rare chuckle, a surprisingly warm sound.

The news station Hank had been watching was now discussing the possibility of a third world war that seemed to loom on the horizon. While she'd read about the foreign conflicts happening in the newspaper, she'd found it best not to think about it at length.

"You've met him before," Connor observed as he straightened up, taking a seat next to her on the couch.

"Yeah," Barbara answered. "A few times, actually. Hank and I have a running tradition of having Thanksgiving together, since we don't really have our own families to spend it with."

Connor frowned at this, his LED turning yellow for a moment as he processed the information and she almost prayed that he didn't ask her to elaborate.

"Hank lost his son," Connor spoke. "I saw the photo."

Barbara nodded. "It was a car accident, a couple years back." She remembered it vividly still. Hank had helped her through several personal issues of her own, and she had felt obligated to be there for him in the months after Cole passed away, especially after he and his wife had separated. After a long time, there was only so much she could do to help him. There was no way to speed up the grieving process, especially one that she knew would never end, the loss of a child.

Connor didn't say anything for a moment, almost as if he was pondering. "That revolver was only loaded with one bullet..."

She took a deep breath, nodding. It wasn't something she wanted to think or talk about at length, especially when they were about to investigate a homicide. There was only so much trauma a person could handle in one night. "Yeah, we should probably leave that one alone for now."

Connor's silence was most likely in agreement. Since the incident on Thursday, she'd knew she'd been unfairly cold to him. She had apologized in the car for her behavior, but she still felt a little guilty. Connor couldn't help who he was, she had to keep reminding herself that. The only person she had to blame for feeling so betrayed by what he'd said in the abandoned apartment was herself. Because he hadn't lied, she just couldn't stand feeling manipulated. Maybe that wasn't what was happening.

Running her fingers through her hair and pulling it so it fell onto one shoulder, she leaned forward to pet Sumo again.

"Have you seen a doctor for those?" Connor said suddenly, and she frowned, turning to see him staring intently at the bruises on her neck from the altercation with the deviant, Rupert, on the roof.

"Oh," she shook her head. "No, I'll be fine."

Barbara had all but forgotten about them, to be honest. She'd worn a turtleneck to work to avoid any questions. It must have slipped her mind as she haphazardly pulled together an outfit earlier in the evening.

Connor reached out, his fingers brushing gingerly over the mauve marks that were scattered on her neck in angry splotches. She shivered from the contact, perhaps because she was expecting his hands to be cold and severe but they weren't. His touch was gentle, the temperature of his skin wasn't _warm_ like another human's might be, but it was pleasant, comforting. It felt so strangely intimate that when his thumb skimmed lightly over one of the bruises she winced and pulled away, even though he was being so delicate it couldn't have possibly hurt her.

"You should ice them, it'll help with the discomfort," he informed her. Barbara was overwhelmed by the impulse to put as much space between herself and Connor as possible, but before she could act, Hank emerged from the restroom in a black coat and the outfit Connor had put together for him.

Hank looked presentable, despite his bloodshot eyes and the smell of whiskey that still clung to him. Connor stood and so did she, Sumo trotting forward and brushing against his owner's leg.

"Don't worry, Sumo" he said. "I won't be long."

Hank led the way out of the front of his home as the dog curled up next to the fireplace. Barbara looked between Hank and Connor, her two partners. They were a somewhat dysfunctional group, but they were growing on her, even if nothing had gone right in their investigation so far. _Maybe tonight, things will change._

Barbara was naively ignorant to what the evening had in store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one, but as much as I desperately tried to shorten it, I felt like I'd be cutting important character/relationship development. I hope you're enjoying so far, it's definitely been challenging to write Connor's first doubts/ "rumblings" of deviancy, though he obviously isn't going to admit that's what they are. Things are going to start moving quickly, now!
> 
> Here's a link to the [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t-aw7eGDkLo) referenced in this chapter. You can find it on my fic [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLvB0pQ_9KkzKIWFSUZ42ZOK7dSM68UcIg) as well. And you know where to find me on [tumblr](https://from-the-clouds.tumblr.com).
> 
> As always, let me know what you think. Your feedback is the best motivator to keep writing!


	7. 7 | Unravel

**CHAPTER 7 | UNRAVEL**

**NOVEMBER 7, 2038**

**1:15 AM**

The Eden Club was vacant, save for the androids, the humans who worked there, and the officers who remained on the scene. **Connor** had already done a general sweep of the main room and didn't find much out of the ordinary, but the crime scene was behind the closed door of a private suite.

Upon arrival, they'd been told that the victim, whose name was Michael Graham, had simply died from cardiac arrest, but upon closer inspection, the bruises on his neck indicated that he'd been strangled. Besides that, their investigation revealed that there was a second Traci involved in the murder. Its whereabouts were unknown.

After that, Barbara had crassly expressed her distaste for the victim's lifestyle choices which resulted in Hank sending her out of the private suite so they could conclude the investigation without her. Connor noticed her attitude had shifted somewhere, but had been unable to pinpoint exactly when, perhaps after the Traci had deactivated in front of them.

Whichever Traci had murdered Michael Graham was likely still located somewhere in the building, and there was a slim percentage it could have gotten off the property without being noticed.

Connor exited the private suite alongside Hank, who paused to speak to the club owner. It might have been useful to question him, Connor thought, until he spotted Barbara walking the perimeter of the club, taking in her surroundings, the androids in their glass cases and dancing on poles. Some bassy, club hit was playing on a loop over the speakers, and Barbara shifted her weight from foot to foot, wrinkling her nose occasionally and crossing her arms as she peered into the glass cases that housed the Tracis, who were varied in appearance.

Connor was unsure of her current mental stability, she seemed upset after watching the Traci he'd questioned deactivate, but alternatively seemed to have little regard for Michael Graham. He knew better than to ask her what was wrong, he had learned that from experience. Barbara regarded him with a curt nod as he approached, and worried her lower lip between her teeth.

"Any updates?" she asked him.

"Nothing you don't already know," Connor said, and watched her carefully.

"Nevermind. I might have something." Barbara pointed to a glass case, a few meters away from them, labeled with a number eight. Unlike those around it, it was deserted. "Is that supposed to be empty?"

"The club has been closed off from customers since we arrived," Connor said, stepping closer to the vacant display, frowning. "None of these should be empty."

"Well maybe that belongs to the Traci we're looking for," she said, turning around to peer at the many exits that stemmed from the main area of the club. "Are there security cameras we can look at?"

Within a second, Connor did a quick scan of the Eden Club's currently active systems. "No," he said, eyeing the Traci in the case in front of him, whose hands were pressed up against the glass, completely oblivious to any disturbance that had occurred within the past few hours. It's eyes were void of any emotion as it stared past them.

Connor turned his head to look over his shoulder, eyes falling on the entrance to the private suite in behind them. There wasn't a security camera, but if this Traci was standing in this case all night, maybe it had seen something.

Lifting his hand to the payment interface next to the Traci's glass enclosure, Connor knew he had to act quickly if he was going to get any information. Unfortunately, as soon as he made contact, the system rejected him.

_No fingerprint detected._

"Barbara...could you try?" he asked.

"What?" she asked, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. Whereas she'd appeared distracted mere moments ago, he now had her full attention.

"I need to probe this Traci's memory," he explained. "I think it may have seen the deviant leave the suite."

Barbara considered this a moment, and Connor became worried she would say no, until she eventually nodded. Taking a deep breath, Barbara reluctantly approached the interface. "I hope this doesn't go in some database somewhere, that I rented a _Traci_ at an Eden Club."

Connor was relieved to hear a hint of humor in her voice. "I'll be your witness that it was strictly for work," he quipped back.

The scanner allowed access to Barbara, informing her that renting the Traci would cost $29.99, but she needed payment. "Wait, _shit_ , I don't have my card, I left it in my car," she frowned. "Should I go get it?"

"Let me ask Hank, first," Connor assured, and strode towards the man, who was engrossed in conversation with the manager. Hank turned when he saw him approaching out of the corner of his eye.

"Lieutenant, can you come here for a second?" he asked. "I think we may have found something."

Lieutenant Anderson didn't press with any questions, and instead followed Connor across the room where Barbara remained, her arms crossed, the same blank stare from earlier present on her face. One of her hands drifted to her neck, absentmindedly touching the bruises that covered it.

Connor hadn't initially seen the extent of the damage that the deviant had done to her, as she'd worn a turtleneck to work the day after the incident. But he'd seen it at Hank's home earlier, the way she'd tensed up when he brought attention to the various contusions littered across the sensitive skin of her neck. To be fair, he wasn't sure where the impulse to touch her had come from to begin with. But she made it glaringly obvious she didn't appreciate being reminded of the injuries, and when he coupled that with her revelation that she believed she was going to die while being strangled by the deviant, he supposed it made sense.

Turning to Hank as Barbara straightened up at their approach, Connor spoke up.

"Can we rent this Traci?" he asked.

"For _fucks sake_ Connor, we've got better things to do," Hank said.

Earlier in the evening, when they'd first arrived and Hank had seen the greeting in the entrance to the Eden Club, boasting _The Sexiest Androids in Town_ , he'd made a joke about understanding why Connor had wanted to investigate this particular crime scene. Connor was actually surprised by the humor, though he personally didn't find it clever or amusing.

"Trust me, Lieutenant," Connor assured, hoping the man complied. He didn't have much time.

Groaning, Hank pulled out his card and approached the interface, confirming his purchase. "This isn't going to look good on my expense report."

Almost instantly the Traci stepped out, eyes on Hank. "It's a pleasure to meet you, I'll escort us to our room," it held it's hand out, voice low, meant to be inviting, but even Connor could pinpoint the lack of interest in it's greeting.

Intercepting the android, Connor stepped between it and Hank, thumb pressing into it's wrist to probe it's memory. Images flashed on his HUD like he was looking through it's eyes, and he saw a blue-haired Traci exiting the private suite just seconds after the murder occurred. Connor released it.

"It saw something...the deviant leaving the room," He turned to Hank and Barbara. "A blue-haired Traci. Club policy is to wipe the androids memory every two hours. We only have a few minutes if we want to find another witness."

Connor was already headed towards the room where he saw the Traci disappear, leaving Hank and Barbara to follow on their own, though he knew he needed Hank to keep making the purchases. Based on his calculations, he had exactly two minutes and thirty-one seconds before the androids memories were erased.

They made their way throughout the club, working their way from the main floor, tracking the suspect through several side rooms and hallways. Sometimes, the memories would be obstructed by the crowds or other customers, so they'd have to find an alternate angle. Hank grumbled every time he had to use his card to purchase another session, but Connor assured him that the club owner would reimburse him. He wasn't entirely certain of this, but the information seemed to give the lieutenant a bit of relief.

"So Connor," Hank said as he tapped one of the interfaces and completed another transaction, turning to him. "If _you_ wanted to enjoy an experience with one of these androids...could you?"

"Hank, that's a _wildly_ inappropriate question to ask a coworker," Barbara interjected, raising her eyebrows at her superior officer. Connor hadn't heard her speak since Hank had joined them at the first display.

"What, I'm curious!" Hank raised his hands in defense.

"I don't find it offensive," Connor said flatly, a vision of the blue-haired Traci walking into another room appearing in his mind as he touched the arm of the android. "As a human-integration android, I was made anatomically complete."

"No fucking way," Hank said, sounding amused. "That's an interesting feature to add to a _detective_ prototype."

Barbara murmured something unintelligible under her breath, her hands raising to her temples as she stared straight ahead in disbelief. Connor wished he had spare time to focus on her, because for a moment, it appeared she was blushing. It was so unlike her, always so impervious. He found it interesting, maybe even a bit amusing.

Connor answered Hank as he walked across the room with his two partners following behind. He didn't mind the questions as long as they kept moving. This was the first time Hank had shown him any genuine interest, although Connor found it surprising that his sexuality was what the lieutenant was curious about.

"There are several motivators that can explain why someone might commit a crime. Sex is one of them." Connor explained. "Based on the motivator, I can activate certain parts of my programming in order to better understand a criminal's motives."

Hank raised his eyebrows as he to, as they approached another Traci. "Interesting...makes sense, I guess."

Hank stopped his line of questioning after that, much to Barbara's clear relief. After a few more focused minutes of analyzing the memories of other androids, he tracked the blue-haired Traci's path down a back hallway, which could only be accessed by employees.

The hallway was white and lined with brick, a doorway at the end of it, and as Connor approached, Hank halted him. "Do you know what's behind those doors?" he asked.

Connor shook his head. It was likely he could access a blueprint to give him an answer, but before he start the process, Hank continued. "We'll take it from here."

Barbara stepped behind Hank carefully, her hand on the gun in her holster as Hank slowly opened the door.

Glancing over her shoulder to look at him, Barbara nodded once. "Stay close," She murmured.

Inside the room was a storage space, dimly lit and filled with boxes, cleaning supplies, and Tracis that were in need of repair or not in use. A large garage door lined one of the walls, meant to be used for deliveries. It was noticeable cooler in the warehouse than it was throughout the rest of the club, probably since the employees entered the space didn't stay long.

They began searching the warehouse, Barbara and Hank seemed stumped, until Connor found a trail of blue blood leading towards a group of several idle androids. He examined it, waving over his two partners wordlessly, lest he alert anything eavesdropping to his discovery.

Connor examined the group of idle androids carefully, but none of them seemed suspect, their LED's weren't even activated. Deviants were hard to spot. Connor was lucky he had seen several images of the suspect, because when he saw her standing behind several other androids, he pinpointed the blue-haired Traci right away.

Before he could act, though, he was assaulted from behind.

Connor didn't even have to make a sound, as Hank was there in nearly a second, his gun raised and pointed at the assailant that had its arms wrapped around Connor's neck, restricting his movement. But as Hank's finger squeezed the trigger, the blue-haired Traci jolted into action to take him down.

Connor hoped Hank could hold his own, because he was a bit too overwhelmed to help him. Finally freeing himself, Connor turned to get a good look at the Traci who'd attacked him, who had short, brown hair, but was clad in the same Eden Club branded undergarments. Despite Connor's in-depth knowledge of hand-to-hand combat, this Traci was clearly deviant as well, it's actions sporadic and unpredictable. It lunged at him, and they went tumbling over a large storage tub, the brown-haired Traci landing on top of him and attempting to throw several blows, which he blocked.

Desperate, it reached out to clutch a screwdriver lying on the floor next to them, bringing it down with great force, the metal spike aimed directly at him. Connor caught it's hands and halted its movements but she was unrelenting, pressing down firmly, intending to drive the sharp point of the tool through his forehead.

Suddenly, its weight was pulled off him, and Connor was able to rise to his feet as the brown-haired Traci scrambled to hers and whipped around to face Barbara, who'd freed him to begin with. Connor turned briefly to find Hank still struggling with the blue-haired android who had caused all this trouble to begin with. Torn for a split-second between who to help, he jumped into action when he heard Barbara yelp in surprise, the sound of metal clattering against the floor.

He didn't see what had happened, just the brown haired Traci running towards the loading deck of the Eden Club. Chasing after her, he grabbed the deviant, and she threw him off of her, he landed in the alleyway outside the club, catching a brief glimpse of the blue-haired Traci wrapping her hand around his attacker's.

Connor lifted himself to his feet as Hank approached them with his gun raised, but they ambushed him, throwing him against the exterior wall of the alley, his gun clattering to the ground. Lunging again, he didn't have much luck in subduing them. It was two against one, and he vaguely wondered where Barbara had gone. Hank's gun was on the snowy ground, and he realized he didn't have many options, picking it up and aiming it at the two Tracis to stop their succession. He could shoot, or he could spare them.

Without knowing exactly what compelled him to do it, he lowered his gun. The blue-haired Traci advanced, kicking him to the ground, the gun falling from his hands. As he peered over his shoulder, straightening up, he realized they'd stopped their assault and now stood over him, pausing. Was this his end?

Instead, the blue-haired Traci's LED spun a brilliant yellow once as her eyes locked with his. Connor felt, rather than heard any words leave her mouth, an unexplained panic gripping him, the feeling of abuse, helplessness, desperation. _What was she doing?_

He was vaguely aware of Hank stepping up next to him, as the brown-haired Traci tugged at the other deviant, and everything that had frozen him in place released, vanished as quickly as it had came.

Faltering hands found the gun at his side, which was heavy, far too heavy to lift, as he watched them climb the fence, jump to the other side and disappear down the street. Hanks eyes were on him, disapproving, Connor assumed, until he spoke up, and he was forced to tear his eyes away from the now vacant street in front of him. "It's probably better this way."

**Software Instability ^**

Whatever had come over him left completely as he turned away to follow Hank, and Connor became suddenly aware of the metallic smell of blood in the air, _human_ blood, and saw the bright red straining the snow behind him, in a trail leading to - _oh_.

Barbara stood, a trail of scarlet down her right wrist, dripping from her fingers and pattering to the ground beneath her, the sleeve of the light blue sweater she was wearing stained with the substance. Staring past him, she seemed oblivious to the injury.

"Barbara, you're bleeding," he asserted, taking several quick steps forward to close the gap between them, and she looked down at her hand.

"Oh," she said, a note of surprise in her voice, she still seemed to be focused on everything that had just played out. "Got me with the damn screwdriver," she frowned, rolling up her sleeve to reveal a cut several inches long in her right forearm. "I didn't realize it was that bad."

Reaching out, Conner locked his hand around her elbow so he could examine the wound, and was relieved to find it wasn't deep enough to hit any arteries or cause major blood loss. He'd never touched a human like this...not one that was alive, at least, and he was amazed by the warmth of her skin, pliable beneath his fingers. "Are you in any pain?"

"I mean, it doesn't feel great" she said, but glanced up at him, taking in his shell-shocked expression. "I'm okay, Connor," she assured him. Something stirred deep within him, perhaps it was the weakness in his programming he'd been sensing over the last few days. He pushed it away.

"Jesus, kid," Hank approached her from behind. "That looks brutal."

"I'll be fine, I have a first aid kit in my car. Just needs cleaned up," she said, flexing her fingers and wincing, the dried blood making them stick together briefly, seeping into the small cracks and patterns of her skin. "Man, I really liked this sweater." Pouting, she stared at the blood now staining the fabric.

"This needs stitches," Connor said, finally releasing her arm. "The nearest hospital is only five blocks away."

She shook her head. "I'm not spending all night in urgent care. I can take care of it at home."

Connor knew better than to insist, but he was still reeling after what just happened, he had a lot to process and the feeling that something was wrong with _him_ was increasing even more since his meeting with Amanda. He had bigger problems than his partners injury, he supposed. Being unable to place what exactly was wrong was the most frustrating part.

 _Amanda_ , he thought. Those two deviants were now running down the street together, and he'd let them. How was he going to explain this to her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter, but truthfully I didn’t want to get into the graphic details since it involves some rather sensitive subject matter. Since most of the people reading have probably played the game, I thought I’d spare the details that weren’t super relevant to the plot of this story. In general, I don’t love this chapter (I’m awful at action sequences) but I had to write it to set things up for the next one. 
> 
> My apologies for the delayed update, I’ve had an interesting work schedule this month and I’m just now getting into a consistent routine, which will hopefully allow me to update on a more regular basis. 
> 
> Anyways, thanks for all your feedback last chapter! It was a great motivator to continue writing, especially because I get a little discouraged feeling like this fandom has faded in popularity since the game’s release over a year ago. Sometimes I wish I had stumbled upon it sooner!


	8. 8 | Dispute

**CHAPTER 8: DISPUTE**

**NOVEMBER 7, 2038**

**2:59 AM**

"Stay still."

**Barbara** sat in the backseat of her car, leaning forward with her palm facing upwards. Just under an hour ago she'd had an unfortunate encounter with a screwdriver-armed deviant. At this point, she was practically expecting to leave each investigation with some kind of injury. Of all the cases she'd been assigned to, this one had ended up being the most violent.

Connor sat across from her, focused on her wound. He'd insisted he clean and dress the gouge in her arm, after he'd pressured her several times to go to the hospital and she refused. Going to the ER would just be a waste of time, and she was more than capable of stitching it up herself.

Hank had sobered up enough to drive them to a park near the river. He'd taken a beer from the warehouse at the Eden Club before they'd left, and was now sitting on a park bench, staring out at the bridge and the water. It was a good place for her to pause and acknowledge the gash she'd received from the fight with the Tracis.

"You know, I can do this myself," she reminded Connor, who had her first-aid kid next to him on the seat of the car. It was a picked-over collection of gauze, band-aids, alcohol swabs, and a package of expired Advil she'd had in her car for several years. Needless to say, it hadn't impressed Connor.

"I'm no doctor, but I do have basic first aid protocols that might serve you better than if you tried to do it alone," he explained, then continued. "This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't tried to save me."

"It's not a big deal," she said. Briefly, she remembered the panic she'd felt when she saw the Traci straddling him, screwdriver aimed between his eyebrows. All she could do was react. "I'm your partner, that's what I'm here for."

" _You_ can severely injure yourself if you aren't careful," Connor unwrapped an alcohol pad. "I've told you this before, if something happens to me, I can be replaced. You can't."

This was a reminder, he'd shared this with her before. But it still felt wrong. She couldn't imagine watching him die and doing nothing to stop it. This night could only provide so much trauma before she lost it, and it was already nearing her personal threshold. It was best she kept that thought to herself.

"You're saying you don't want to see anything bad happen to me?" Barbara asked. He seemed almost... _frustrated_ with her, if that was possible. She might have found it funny, if the circumstances were different. She was beginning to think that maybe the few times he'd looked out for her and Hank, it had come from a place of sincerity. That, or he was just really good at being manipulative. The latter was a lot less comforting to her. Connor rubbed down the wound with the alcohol swab, and she clenched her jaw at the sting.

"It wouldn't be ideal," he said. "You've been an asset to this investigation," he said, not looking up.

Despite the compliment, she wrinkled her nose at what he had implied. "Oh," Barbara said. Normally she'd keep her mouth shut, but the next sentence came out of her mouth before she could stop it. "That's the only reason why it would be bad? Because it would hurt the investigation?"

"No," his brows furrowed. "I consider you a friend."

_A friend._ Now there was something she was shocked to hear. Here she was, making friends at work again. It's not like she could disagree with that statement, as much as she wanted to.

Connor was her friend. It made sense, after all. Barbara's line of work had a way of accelerating relationships, she'd experienced things with her partners that the average person would never be exposed to in their entire lives.

"I see," she answered Connor. "Too bad that feeling only goes one way."

Connor lifted his head to meet her expression, as if he could read her better that way. He looked like a damn puppy dog, all disappointed, until he saw the smile in her eyes. This seemed to satisfy him, and he returned his focus to her injury. "I don't always appreciate your sense of humor."

Barbara frowned. "Well, I need it tonight." She was saving her full mental breakdown for later, recalling the terror in the Traci's eyes moments before it had deactivated. It wasn't human, she had to remind herself, but for some reason, it felt no different. Whatever was happening, she decided all she needed was a bit of a cry, maybe a hit from the half-smoked joint she'd rolled a couple weeks ago and hopefully she could sleep without any nightmares. At this rate, however, there was a good chance she wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon.

An image Hank's hand clasped loosely around a revolver with one bullet in the chamber passed through her mind. That was a whole other issue, but it felt like it'd been three days since she'd made that discovery.

"It would be ideal if you had a medical professional examine this," Connor urged for what was likely the fifth time in the past hour, pulling her out of her head. Barbara waved him off. He worked quickly, lining the wound with surgical pads, holding her arm steady as his deft hands wrapped gauze around her wrist.

"Thank you, Connor," she said when he was finished, crumbling the wrappers from the bandages in his palm and searching for a place to discard them. "Just put them in the cupholder, I'll throw them away when I get home."

Connor nodded and placing them carefully in the front seat before sitting back on his haunches, his hands on his knees. "I should check on the lieutenant," he said. "I don't think he's pleased with how things played out tonight."

Barbara nodded, and decided it was best to give them a few moments of space. Connor left her alone in the backseat of her car, the cool chill of the night seeping in briefly before he closed the door behind him. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes, savoring the first moment of peace she'd had in what felt like days, even though it'd only been a couple hours since Connor had arrived on her doorstep.

Some time passed, it could have only been a couple of minutes, but she was so focused on quelling the thoughts spinning through her mind, she couldn't be sure. The sound of Hank raising his voice, shouting, jolted her out of her meditation. From her spot in the car, she couldn't make out what he was saying, but her eyes flew open. Connor and Hank hadn't had many tiffs since the android had saved him from falling off a rooftop a few days before.

Barbara opened the door to her car and slid out, closing it quietly enough not to alert either of them. Whatever Hank had been upset about had seemed to quell, he was sitting on the back of one of the park benches, cradling the beer between his hands.

It had started to snow, and Barbara shoved her hands in her pockets. Gloves were always an annoyance to her.

Connor was in front of Hank, looking out at the river, and as she approached, she caught the end of Hank's sentence. Connor's eyes flickered to hers briefly but she didn't want to interrupt their conversation. "I don't know, Connor. It seemed like those two girls just wanted to be together," Hank said.

"They don't know what they want," Connor said, his tone suddenly changing from one of curiosity to one with a slight bite, especially in the words that followed. "They're deviants. Whatever it is they think they feel isn't real."

There it was, the cold indifference he'd shown in the abandoned apartment. Barbara shivered. It basically nullified any kind words he'd spoken to her this evening. This time, however, his tone was almost defensive in nature.

"Okay, then Connor." Hank began, taking a swig of beer and pushing himself off the bench. "What the hell do you think you are? You look human, you sound human….what are you?"

"I know what I am." Connor stated, shaking his head in disbelief. "So do you. None of this is relevant to the investigation."

"Right. The investigation. Back at the club, you could have shot those Tracis, but you didn't," Hank stepped closer to Connor. "Wasn't that the _right_ thing to do, Connor? Why didn't you shoot?" Barbara was surprised when Hank reached out and gave him a punctuated shove, hard enough that Connor took few steps backward to steady himself. She tensed up. "Hm? If you care so much about the investigation, what made you hesitate?"

Connor's eyes darted from side to side. "I just _decided_ not to shoot, there's nothing else to it."

Hank stepped back, and it appeared for a moment that the answer satisfied him, until suddenly he reached into his pocket and drew his gun, aiming it at Connor's head. "Then are you afraid to die Connor?"

Barbara lept forward. It hadn't appeared Hank was _that_ inebriated, but she couldn't standby while he threatened Connor this way. What if he pulled the trigger?

"Hey," she called, and Hank turned his head briefly to acknowledge her, unaware that she'd been listening in.

"Stay out of this, Barbara," Hank warned as he focused back on the android cowering in front of him.

Hank's warning meant nothing to her as she attempted to step in between them, reaching for Hank's gun as he pulled it just out of her reach. Connor's arm lifted to block her path in front of them, his eyes never leaving Hank's. Resisting, she pressed against him but Connor surprised her by pushing her with little-to-no effort on his part, sending her skittering backwards, slipping on the thin layer of snow beneath her boots, away from the gun Hank had currently aimed at his head. She hadn't expected this much resistance.

"I would certainly find it regrettable to be...interrupted before I can finish this investigation," Connor said. His voice was even.

_He didn't want to die_. Barbara had no idea what Hank's intentions were, but she wasn't going to stand by and find out.

"What'll happen if I pull this trigger?" Hank asked. "Nothing? Oblivion? Android heaven?"

"Where does all your anger come from, Lieutenant?" Connor asked in response. "Some...unresolved trauma in your past?"

"You think you're so fucking smart, always one step ahead, huh?" Hank growled. "How do I know you're not a deviant?"

Connor didn't have to answer that question, because Barbara stepped forward again, shoving him out of the way with what she hoped was the same force he'd used on her, and grabbing the barrel of Hank's gun, aiming it at her own head. "That's enough," she said, raising her voice.

"Barbara-" she could see Connor approaching her carefully out of the corner of her eye.

"Stay back, Connor," she warned, holding her hand out out to stop him. "I don't need your fucking protection." His LED spun in one quick rotation of red at her words, but he stepped backwards, shoulders pinched together.

"You're going to take a bullet for _him_?" Hank asked, incredulous, looking between the two of them.

"I'm not going to let you shoot our partner," she said, her voice was shaking, but she tried to sound as determined as possible. Certainly Hank wasn't going to shoot her. Right?

"You're a goddamn _police Lieutenant_ and you're threatening to kill someone you work with?"

Hank lowered his revolver, as if he finally realized _who_ he was aiming it at. Barbara took the opportunity to snatch it from his hand as his grip loosened, turning on the safety and pocketing it before he could react.

"Hey, what the he-" Hank protested, reaching towards her pocket, but she cut him off before he could finish the thought.

"You've been drinking," Barbara said. "I'll give this to you tomorrow once you've sobered up."

"Don't act so high and mighty like you're above all this," Hank said. "You're just as fucked up as I am and you know it."

"You're drunk," Barbara deflected. He had a point, and she knew it. But it wasn't something she was interested in hearing about, especially not _tonight._ "I'm not going to have this conversation with you. Save your bullshit for someone who _actually_ cares. I'm done with it." The second the words left her mouth she regretted them. The betrayal in Hank's eyes was evident, fleetingly, before he hardened again.

Turning around, he chucked the empty beer bottle in his hand into a trash bin, stalking off.

"Where are you going?" she had nearly forgotten about Connor next to her, when he spoke up she felt even more shame that she'd been so brutal to Hank in front of someone else.

"To get drunker!" Hank yelled without looking over his shoulder. He walked past her car. They weren't far from Jimmy's, and he could catch a bus home. Barbara wanted to make things right, but she knew it wasn't going to happen if she chased after him. Instead, she watched silently as he disappeared down the street.

It could have been hours that she stood there, frowning after Hank, a knot in her stomach and an overwhelming feeling of dread hanging over her. She really fucked up. Even with the chill of the evening, the snowflakes landing on her coat and in her hair, her body was hot with shame and embarrassment. There was no longer any anger inside of her, just regret.

"You shouldn't have done that," Connor's voice cut through the tension that hung thick in the air. "You could've gotten killed."

If it wasn't for him speaking up, she wasn't sure how long she would have stood there staring after her lieutenant.

"Yeah, well I _did,_ " she defied, but she bit her tongue to stop any more words from coming out. Barbara would never forgive herself if she continued. She'd already caused enough pain tonight, she didn't need to add more, even if Connor couldn't get emotional. "Hank wouldn't have shot me anyways," she lowered her voice.

"Barbara," she heard him speak again, stepping closer, voice quiet and reassuring in her ear. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she said, though it wasn't convincing to herself, and probably not to the inquisitive Connor. "I shouldn't have said that."

Connor was at her side, his hand on her shoulder. Perhaps it was supposed to be comforting, but it did little to qualm the turmoil inside her. Her instinct was to shrug him off, partly because she felt close to crying. It was only making things worse. Barbara didn't like comfort. She'd always preferred to suffer alone.

In the moment she'd been so mad at Hank, she thought it would feel good to give him a verbal slap across the face, to shock him with her words, but now she felt like a weepy child after a temper tantrum, pathetic and petulant. "I'm sorry for yelling at you," she said, recalling the harshness of her language towards him only minutes ago.

"You don't have to apologize," Connor said, for the second time that night. When she finally turned to look at him, his LED was spinning in a circle of gold before it turned back to blue.

"Are _you_ okay?" she asked him. "You seem a little... _off_ tonight."

Connor shook his head and pursed his lips. "There are no irregularities in my programming."

"That's not what I-" Barbara began, and then cut herself off. "Nevermind."

Androids weren't capable of feeling emotion, at least that's what she'd been told. But Connor didn't appear to be his usual steady, reliable self.

"It's been a long night, and Lieutenant Anderson had been drinking," Connor spoke again. If he wasn't being honest with her, she understood. Maybe all of this meant less to him than she thought it did...but...it _couldn't_. He was so authentic.

Barbara sat down on the bench, staring out at the river. It wasn't cold enough to have frozen over yet, a lone cargo ship purred it's way along the banks. There were unspoken words that hung in between them, an obstacle course, Barbara was just trying to figure out which rope to grab.

"Why didn't you shoot?" she asked him, leaning back. Nothing that had happened at the club had made her upset with him. If anything, it was quite the opposite. But his motives were what mattered.

"If they died, I wouldn't learn anything from them." he said. "It seemed...pointless, if all they were going to do was run away."

It wasn't the answer that she was looking for, but it wasn't as bad as his excuse to Hank. "I would have done the same thing," she said flatly.

Connor had his back turned to her, staring back at the river. After a moment, he spun on his heel and moved closer, taking a seat next to her on the bench. His LED was a constantly spinning yellow disk. "It's interesting," she began. Maybe he'd feel better if she changed the subject back to the investigation. "You said those androids at the club had their memory wiped every two hours?"

Connor nodded. "Yes, it's protocol at the Eden Club."

"Those two girls still managed to remember that they loved each other, even after the memory wipe," she said. "They formed a relationship, trusted each other. Deviancy must be deeper than just a simple code error, wouldn't it be wiped too if their memory was erased?"

"That's an interesting theory," Connor seemed to ponder this. "I suppose it's not impossible for the virus to embed itself in their programming. If that's what's happening, a memory wipe wouldn't eliminate it."

"Yeah," she said, leaning forward and placing her elbows on her knees, stared at the skyline and squinted, the lights of the city streaking across her vision. "It's definitely something to consider."

"May I ask you a personal question?" Connor spoke after a beat of silence.

Barbara snorted, she found that him asking permission to get to know her was a little quirky, ever since the beginning. But she understood. "It depends on the question," she said softly. At this point, it had become a bit of a running joke between them, that she needed to hear the question first before deciding whether or not she would answer.

"Most humans don't care for androids..." he trailed off. "You don't seem to share that sentiment. Can I ask why?"

The question caught her off guard, she supposed she wasn't quite sure how to answer it right away. Delving into her past seemed like a requirement, she didn't want to go there, but she didn't think she could answer the question without it. Was she really going to pour her heart out to someone who likely only viewed this conversation as one more step towards his mission? Barbara scolded herself. She needed to stop being to severe.

"Well, uh….I spent a lot of time in children's homes." Barbara turned to look at him briefly, and he nodded, as if to encourage her to continue. "My parents weren't around much the last few years before I moved out."

She thought of the lack of consistency in her life. There were a few moments of her childhood she could pinpoint where she felt _joyful_ , that she looked back on with a sort of fondness. It wasn't all bad, but it had been unclear to her just how abnormal her childhood had been until she reached adulthood.

"Androids weren't commonplace until I was in my late teens, and there were some that worked in the dormitories. They'd cook and clean and help look after the kids. They were always so kind to me...I mean, my parents _tried_ to be. But they were addicts, they had more pressing obligations than their daughter."

Connor was staring at Barbara, she didn't need to look at him to see that. She'd always had a talent for being able to tell when someone had their eyes on her. "I don't think that we're all that different. You can get technical about it, but in this case, it's better to take things at face value."

She half-expected him to reaffirm that androids were machines, and that they were _indeed_ different. But when he spoke up after a moment of quiet, she was taken aback. "I'm sorry to hear that," she turned to him, eyebrows creased in confusion. "About your parents," he clarified.

_Oh._ She wasn't aware he'd even paid any attention to that, since it wasn't the answer to his question. Barbara shrugged. "It's just the hand I was dealt." She'd come to peace with it awhile ago, or so she thought. It wasn't something she enjoyed dwelling on. And she'd made it out alright...to some extent.

It was silent where they sat, besides the noise of the river and the occasional car running over the bridge. Serene. Another moment of quiet in an evening that had barraged every single one of her senses and stripped her of acumen. She shivered, the chill of the night settling in.

"You should go home, get some rest," Connor said. "Your arm will heal quicker if you sleep."

Barbara had nearly forgotten about her bandaged wrist, but nodded in agreement. She was tired, she just didn't know if sleep was in the cards for her. "I know," she said. "Do you need me to take you anywhere?" Connor shook his head no.

"Where do you go at night?" she asked. It seemed strange to leave him in the vacant, empty park all alone.

Connor shrugged, falling into step beside her as she trekked through the light snowfall to her car. "There are places in the city for androids to stay."

The android parking ports, she'd seen them scattered in the city, but it felt so inhumane for someone like Connor, like you were throwing your cell phone on its charger for the night. "Isn't it a bit cold for you?"

"I can't feel cold," Connor said. "And if it does get too cold my system has ways of regulating my temperature."

"Oh, okay," Barbara cast her eyes down. He halted in front of her car, as she stepped around to the other side, opening the driver's side door. "Well, be careful...there's a lot going on out there."

"I will," he assured her.

Nodding, she gave him a small smile, her hand on the roof of her car. "I guess I'll see you in a couple hours, then."

He returned the grin, dimples in his cheeks she'd never noticed appeared. "I'll see you then. Drive safely," always polite, professional.

Barbara closed the door and started the car, and Connor watched her drive away. She crossed the bridge to go back to the city, guilt weighing heavily on her shoulders, absolutely and completely _alone_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kind words last chapter. They really gave me motivation to edit this one quickly and get it posted. I have to admit, however, I didn't feel it needed as much editing as previous ones, so I might have gotten lazy and missed a few typos. Let me know if you see anything, and please let me know what you think of this chapter. It's one of my favorites!


	9. 9 | Severity

**CHAPTER 9 | SEVERITY**

**NOVEMBER 7, 2038**

**11:30 AM**

**Connor** watched Barbara approach their trio of desks. She'd been hiding in the break room all morning, either she was avoiding Hank, or him, or maybe both. It seemed unlike her, to shy away from confrontation, since he'd seen her start and inject herself in several since they'd met, but after her fight with Lieutenant Anderson the night before, she made it clear she was upset with herself.

Hank had just arrived and was settling in, he only grunted a greeting to Connor, who wondered if they were going to ignore what had happened the previous evening. Humans didn't always seek to resolve conflict in the most efficient way, he'd observed enough to come to this conclusion. There was no logic in how they avoided their problems. It _was_ possible that Connor's ability to understand his counterparts was flawed, as he'd already been forced to acknowledge this fault several times during the investigation.

Despite the rift that had occurred with Hank, and the harsh words passed between Barbara and the Lieutenant, his relationship with the young detective seemed much stronger. Barbara had seemed appreciative that he'd helped her with her injury, in a reluctant sort of way. It became apparent that she was avoiding Connor now because of what she'd revealed to him the night before. Anytime he took a step forward with her, she immediately took two steps backwards, never quite within his reach, or consenting to be understood. It wasn't relevant to his mission, but for some reason, he felt as if he was failing.

Hank was clearly hungover, or still quite inebriated, and slouched forward onto his desk, his head in his hands. Connor was surprised he had arrived before noon, considering the circumstances of the evening before.

He heard someone behind him inhale deeply, and turned to find Barbara approaching her desk next to Connor's, a small, newspaper-wrapped parcel tucked under her arm. Psyching herself up, she rolled her shoulders back and flicked a stray piece of hair over her shoulder.

"Good morning, Hank," she said, and the man lifted his chin up, glaring at her with narrowed eyes. He hadn't forgotten. Tentatively, she reached out, handing him the package.

"What the hell is this?" he asked, staring at the gift in her outstretched hand.

"A peace offering," she said earnestly.

Hank begrudgingly reached out to take it from her hands, and pulled the newspaper away, revealing a tin underneath. When he took the top of the container off, he exposed

picture perfect chocolate-chip cookies, layered in the tin between pieces of parchment paper.

Hank grunted. "I thought you said you didn't eat this crap anymore."

"I didn't eat any," she said. "I made them for you. Your favorite. The ones with the browned butter and dark chocolate chips."

Hank glared at her, put the top of the tin back on and slid it back towards her desk. "Keep them," he grumbled, looking back at his computer. "You've been looking a little scrawny lately anyhow."

Barbara's face fell, and she leaned forward so her hands rested against the desk in front of her. "Hank," she began. "I know I have no way to make it up to you, what I said last night was completely uncalled for. _I'm sorry._ I don't have an excuse for how I acted."

Hank stared at her for a long time, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. Barbara bounced her knee and worried her lip between her teeth, waiting, expectant. "Let me get this straight..." Hank said. "You went home last night at four in the morning...and made me cookies, and now, you're expecting me to forgive you?"

Barbara pursed her lips, tilting her head. "I mean..." she paused for a moment, eyebrows furrowing together and nibbling at her lower lip as she appeared to search for something else to say. "Yeah ...that's actually exactly what happened."

"Interesting," Hank said. Something flickered across his countenance for a moment, the same affection Connor had seen him look upon Barbara with several times before, something he only reserved for her. His face steeled again, though not as intensely as he had before, as he reached out and slid the tin of cookies back towards himself. "Sit down," he commanded. "After last night, we've got a lot of paperwork to fill out."

Barbara's shoulders relaxed. It wasn't a declaration of forgiveness, but it appeared enough, for now. Despite the fact that Connor was glad to see the pair reconcile, he had some concerns. Connor scanned her quickly, her admission of not sleeping confirmed what he'd already observed, bloodshot and puffy eyes, and an increased heart rate. He'd learned by now she wouldn't appreciate a reminder of the risks associated with sleep-deprivation, so he kept the observation to himself. He wondered briefly why this realization concerned him, but brushed it aside.

No cases had been called in yet today, so he knew he'd just be assisting with Barbara and Hank's paperwork. Connor knew he'd have to debrief with Amanda at some point, especially after the events of the evening before. It was non-negotiable, their meeting, and it suddenly dawned on him why humans might go to such lengths to avoid uncomfortable situations. However, Connor wasn't aware of the thunderstorms heading his way.

* * *

Connor stared at the large screen in front of him, the android with it's deactivated skin and mismatched eyes stared back. This was _his_ fault. Amanda wouldn't let him forget about this. Perhaps if he hadn't failed so many times, it wouldn't have come to this.

" _Special Agent_ Perkins, huh?" Just as he was about to scan the serial number of the android who'd broadcasted it's face to the entire city, Barbara's voice cut in. She stepped in between him and Hank. "Feds," she scoffed.

Hank shook his head. Barbara reached forward, pressing play on the footage of the broadcast. The still image in front of him stirred to life.

_"We ask that you recognize our dignity, our hopes, and our rights. Together, we can live in peace and build a better future for humans and androids. This message is the hope of a people. You gave us life, and now the time has come for you to give us freedom."_

She reached out again, pausing the video, her hand falling slowly from the control board. Inhaling deeply, her expression was unreadable, but she couldn't seem to pull her eyes from the screen. Considering what she'd told him yesterday, he wondered if she agreed with those words. _I don't think we're all that different,_ she'd said.

Connor spotted the serial number on it's cheek, scanning it. _RK-Series Prototype. RK200._ He frowned. This android was from the same series as he was, also a prototype. He wondered what special capabilities it shared with him. _Registered as 'Markus'. Gift from Elijah Kamski to Carl Manfred._

Carl Manfred, father of Leo Manfred, who they'd interviewed, and learned very little from. It was an interesting connection, but the case file said that this android had been destroyed. How it had put itself back together and somehow made its way to the screen in front of him, Connor couldn't conclude.

Hank, turned away to go look elsewhere for evidence. When Connor turned his head, Barbara was staring at him, suspicion written on her features. She appeared to be looking past him almost, until she absentmindedly turned her body to follow Hank, her gaze lingering on him slightly longer than he believed was necessary. Finally, she turned her head, her hair falling over her shoulders as she continued about the investigation.

One of the officers had mentioned they were holding the androids that witnessed the takeover in the broadcast center's break room. There'd been no signs of forced entry into the control room, so Connor suspected that one of the androids working there must have deviated to let Markus in. He could get more information from whichever one it was.

All three androids were standing, stoic, with their hands clasped in front of them when he walked in. It would be hard to find the deviant, he knew, but he needed to try. Amanda's threat rang in his ears.

_If your investigation doesn't make progress soon, I may have to replace you, Connor._

He didn't have a choice but to find the deviant responsible.

"One of you saw the attack on the surveillance cameras and said nothing. Which means there's a deviant in this room. And I'm going to find out which it is..." Connor eyed them carefully, looking for subtle movements, signs of discomfort.

Turning to the android on the far right of him, he spoke. "What is your function?"

"I am a broadcast operator," it said.

He turned to the android to his far left. "What is your model?"

"Model JB300, serial number 336 445 581."

Connor focused on the android directly in front of him. "Run a diagnostic," he instructed.

It did as it was told, it's eyes flitting up and down briefly as Connor stepped forward to examine it. "All systems fully operational."

Maybe Connor imagined it, a brief flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, the android to his left turning his head and glancing at him. Deviants were notoriously hard to identify, but that couldn't have been a mistake. Connor stepped backwards, fixated.

"If you give yourself up, maybe I can convince the humans not to destroy you," he said, stepping closer to the suspect at his left. _Nothing._ No response.

He stepped back, glancing back at the other two, but when he turned back he saw the android's eyes on him, briefly, but _on_ him. His suspicions had been correct. "Why should you all be destroyed if only one of you is deviant? Turn yourself in, or two innocent androids will be shut down because of you."

When that didn't work, he stepped forward to the suspect, grabbing the lapels of its jacket. "You scumbag," he yelled. "I know it's you, you're just a _fucking_ deviant." Hank and Barbara's use of language was rubbing off on him, he realized. But he got no reaction from the machine in front of him, releasing its collar. It knew exactly what it was doing.

"Fine," Connor muttered. There was only one way to truly determine. He reached out towards the android's arm to probe it's memory, closing in. He was going to find out exactly what happened, finally get some answers and figure out a way to end all of this.

Without warning, it snatched it's hand away. Before Connor could react, it's arms lifted to give him a harsh shove backward. Connors back connected with the edge of the kitchenette countertop, and he was pinned between the surface and the deviant. Connor tried his best to resist it's assault, but he was too late. It ripped the front of his dress shirt, the sound of buttons tapping against the floor were processed by his auditory unit as the deviant forced it's hand inside his chest cavity and yanked his thirium pump regulator straight from his body. Tossing it over his shoulder, the deviant grabbed a knife off the table and stabbed Connor's hand, immobilizing him to the countertop.

The other two androids remained still, unemotional, unfeeling. And unable to help. Connor wasn't a deviant, but would he have stood by as a witness to what they were seeing?

 _Biocomponent 18456w_ _**Missing,** _ _Vital System Damaged._

Red warnings popped up in his vision, the JB300 staring at him for a few moments as he struggled to free himself, his sight fading in and out, blurry. It turned and slowly walked out of the room, so as not to be detected by the guards crowding the hallway.

 _"Hank!"_ Connor called out for the Lieutenant, his voice weak, muffled. _"I need help!"_

There were alarms going off somewhere in his programming, he could hear them loudly as if they were playing throughout the room, but there must have been no one outside to hear him calling.

_00:01:01, 01:00, 00:59... Time Remaining Before Shutdown_

Connor turned, prying at the knife that pinned his hand to the table, held him there. He was weak, so _weak_ , moving his hand was like dragging it through mud; heavy and sloppy.

His was finally able to pull the knife out with all the force he could muster, collapsing onto the floor on his stomach, barely able to lift his head as he spotted his thirium pump regulator a few meters away.

_00:00:45, 00:44, 00:43..._

He began to crawl, hoping that somehow he could reach it in time, but he had little strength, every fiber in him was resisting the movement, in his weakened state, his systems were attempting to save energy. It was nearly impossible to advance, but he did.

Connor neared the component, only a few feet away from his grasp, now.

_00:00:30, 00:29, 00:28..._

With thirty seconds left, his mobility function began shutting down completely, he couldn't move anymore if he wanted to. _"Help!"_ he called out again, but he was sure it was a lost cause, he couldn't hear himself speak. He'd told Hank and Barbara several times before that if he shut down, if he was damaged, he'd come back. But after his conversation with Amanda earlier, he understood that it wouldn't be _him_ who came back, it would be some upgraded version of himself, and they'd tear him apart to dissect what went wrong with him. He wasn't supposed to be emotional about this, the prospect of his end had always just meant another beginning. Whatever issue he'd been dealing with lately in his programming must have taken over in his dwindling consciousness, emulating what he could only describe as... _fear._

"Holy _shit_!" there was a voice in his peripherals, panic-laced and pinched. "Connor!"

 _"Barbara,"_ he could barely manage her name.

"Hey, hey," her voice was strained, but low, like she was trying to provide some kind of comfort. "You're alright," he was rolled over onto his back, and he could finally see her, somehow more clearly than he ever had before, all things considered. The fluorescents hanging overhead cast a halo of light around her head as she hovered over him, one hand bracing itself on the floor next to his head, the other on the side of his face, impossibly warm, the pad of her thumb rubbing over his cheek. She was looking at his chest, trying to assess the damage. "What can I do?"

 _"There was...a deviant..._ " his own voice didn't sound like it was coming from him. He registered the pure terror in her eyes as she looked upon him, jade irises darting from side to side. Connor was able to turn his head just enough to look at the thirium pump regulator just within a foot of his grasp. _"Quick."_

_00:00:15, 00:14, 00:13..._

Understanding, she released him briefly, stretching out over him and grabbing the biocomponent, placing it in his hand.

_00:00:10, 00:09, 00:08..._

Connor was able to muster enough strength to bring it back to his body with a grunt, forcing it into place. It took a moment for his body to recognize, to recover, he felt the surge of blue blood through his systems once again. Barbara was still leaned over him, brows etched together, her lower lip between her teeth, one of her hands remained at the juncture between his jawline and his neck. If he was scared, she looked petrified.

But he'd have time to explain later.

The second he could, he pulled himself up by one of the break room chairs as Barbara skittered backwards, and Connor was up and running, sprinting down the hallway. The deviant had walked so calmly from the room it was unlikely to have been detected by anyone who was a part of the investigation.

Connor entered a long hallway and spotted the JB300 wrestling an FBI officer for their rifle. No one was going to act on time, he realized, so he had to act himself. Hank's chance of survival was 40%, he could save him, charge the deviant, or-

He didn't have much time to process the decision as he grabbed the gun of the officer standing next to him, aiming it at the deviant as it turned the rifle towards all the other people in the hallway, planning a massacre. Before it could, Connor took several shots, aiming precisely. He hit the JB300 directly in the chest, and it fell to its knees. Connor could see it's LED flicker red before going dim.

Things seemed to return to a normal speed around him, half the people in the hallway hadn't even realized they were about to face their death.

"Nice shot, Connor," Hank said, a note of approval in his voice.

But Connor wasn't satisfied. _Amanda_ wouldn't be satisfied. He wasn't going to get the information he so desperately needed. "I wanted it alive."

"You saved human lives," Hank said. "You saved my life."

Connor turned to Hank. It seemed as though their tiff from the evening before had been folded over, at least for now.

" _Holy shit_ ," He hadn't heard the hurried footsteps behind them, turning to find Barbara. She was focused on the deviant beyond them, her gaze shifting back and forth from it to Connor. "Jesus _Christ_."

"Are you alright, kid?" asked Hank as Barbara knelt forward and put her hands on her knees.

"What?" she asked, straightening up to look at Hank. "Yeah, I'm fine. Everything's fine- Connor, are you okay?" her eyes flickered down to his chest, his shirt still ripped, blue blood staining the white shirt beneath his jacket. Her hand was on his upper arm for a moment.

"I'm fine," he responded, glancing down at her. The sand-colored, long-sleeved shirt she wore was discolored with his blood in places, the cuffs and stomach. Even though he knew it wouldn't stain, he found it rather unsettling.

"Oh my god, I thought-How did you?" she trailed off as she took in minute details from the scene around her, the android slumped at the end of the hallway, the machine gun lying inches from its hands. She shook her head, as if trying to understand what she'd witnessed wasn't worth her time.

Whirling around, she focused on Hank. "Are _you_ okay?" she asked. Hank nodded, but didn't elaborate, glancing at Connor, who walked towards the fallen deviant.

Connor knelt in front of it, staring, trying to see what he could retrieve. Very little, it seemed. Blue blood stained the floor around it. He stood again, staring down at the mess he'd made, wondering how much he needed to salvage this investigation. What information could he possibly gather that would be enough for Amanda? It became clear to Connor that even though he'd been able to recover mere moments ago, his time was still running out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey all. Thanks for all the kind words recently, and I'm sorry for missing an update last week. Usually I spend a couple hours editing chapters, but unfortunately I'm coming down with a cold, so my edits this chapter were pretty minimal, but I did want to get something out to you! Hopefully the quality is still up to snuff.


	10. 10 | Divergence

**CHAPTER 10 | DIVERGENCE**

**NOVEMBER 8, 2039**

**4:33PM**

Barbara sat in the backseat of Hank's car, staring out the window at the snow fluttering down outside. Elijah Kamski's house was one of the few modern wonders of architecture just outside Detroit's city limits, build into the side of a hill. It blended in well with the environment around it, very Frank Lloyd Wright-esque, serene, quiet.

She was envious of Kamski, to get to live in such a secluded home away from the concrete jungle where they worked. He had been as old as she was now when he'd retired, his greatest accomplishments already in his past. He'd quit working at the peak of his career. What would it feel like to know your purpose while still so young? Another part of her stirred in turmoil. Perhaps she should have done the same and quit after cracking the de Rais case, since she'd failed almost every investigation since, continuing to fall short of the mark.

As for the deviant investigation, she'd become surprisingly involved. _Emotionally_ involved. Barbara had started to care deeply, but for all the wrong reasons. It was becoming clear to her she was quite biased, but she wasn't going to admit that to herself or anyone else. She had to keep forging ahead, pretending.

Hank had set up this meeting with Kamski, since they'd hadn't found enough evidence from their own investigation. The FBI would likely be taking over soon anyways, but Hank and Connor were both so devoted that she had no choice but to follow along. How Hank had gotten in touch with him was a mystery to her, but from her experience, he always seemed to have the right connections when necessary.

Connor sat in the front passenger's seat, diagonal to her. His deft fingers passed the silver coin between his knuckles, balancing it on his fingertips, the soft ping of the metal hitting his skin the only noise in the car. Hank was outside, on the phone.

"You're more quiet than usual today, Barbara," Connor observed out loud, and she turned her head to look at him. His eyes met hers in the rearview mirror.

"I don't have much to say," she answered softly. She'd been watching her mouth around Hank to avoid another outburst, since things were finally being ironed out between them. As for Connor, well...she had a lot of things on her mind, but nothing she was inclined to share with him.

The soft ping of Connor's coin stopped abruptly. "I don't believe I've properly thanked you for what you did yesterday," he said.

"Yeah," she said, turning back to look out the window. "Well, you scared me for a minute there."

The panic that had wrapped itself around her chest when she'd seen Connor lying on the floor, essentially bleeding out, still hadn't quite let go of her completely. He'd gotten up and continued on like nothing even happened, and she'd been left behind in the control center break room with his blood on her hands, trembling and shell-shocked. At the end of it all, he seemed more upset that he'd been forced to kill the deviant than the fact that he'd nearly lost his life.

He wasn't _human_ , she felt so foolish that she couldn't wrap her head around this concept. No matter how many times she'd said it to herself, and even Connor reminded her, it seemed to disappear from her conscious, especially when something bad happened.

The way he'd recovered and jumped into action, torn out of the room and down the hallway within seconds of nearly dying should have made his condition clear. Barbara had watched him put a bullet straight through the deviants chest in the time it probably would have taken her to decide if she wanted to draw her weapon or not. It should have frightened her, that he was capable of such destruction. It was foolish, probably, but it didn't. As much as she hated to admit it, she trusted him.

"If you weren't there, I believe many people would have been seriously hurt or even killed before I could stop the deviant," Connor said, and Barbara broke out of her train of thought.

"Well, you've helped me out several times before," she said. "I think it's only fair I return the favor."

Connor gave her a crooked smile in the rearview mirror, the asymmetrical grin so humanlike and genuine, she couldn't help but return her own tight-lipped smirk. Barbara wanted to ask him questions, wanted to know if he'd been afraid to die. She knew he wasn't supposed to be capable of feeling emotions or pain, and that he'd just be replaced, his memory uploaded into another body. But when she'd seen him crawling on his stomach, the way he'd called her name when she entered the room, she could have sworn she saw fear in his eyes, some kind of desperation.

Hank lowered the phone from his ear outside, and Connor left the car to join him, Barbara followed as he waved them along. "How did you find Kamski?" Connor asked.

"I remember this guy was all over the media when CyberLife first started selling androids...I made a few calls, here we are," Hank reached out and hit the doorbell once.

The door opened after a beat, a petite, blonde woman answered. It took Barbara a moment to realize she was an android. But she should have known, based on her perfectly symmetrical, aesthetically pleasing face and well-proportioned body. She wore a backless blue dress and was barefoot, and Hank stuttered over his words as he greeted her.

"Hi, I'm er, Lieutenant Hank Anderson, Detroit Police Department. I'm here to see Mr. Elijah Kamski," he said, finally able to speak by the end of his sentence.

The android smiled, opening her arms and gesturing to the room. "Please, come in," she insisted.

They walked into the foyer of the home, following after the woman, and Barbara took in the ornately decorated space. "I'll let Elijah know you're here. But please, make yourselves comfortable," she disappeared into a connecting room.

Hank immediately made a move for a chair in the corner of the room, but Barbara was interested in examining the foyer, the photographs and expensive collectibles. Classical music was being piped through the surround-sound system. A massive portrait of Kamski took up one wall. Connor was examining the room with the same intense focus as though it were a crime scene, focused in on one of the photos, a picture of Kamski and an older woman on what looked to be a college campus.

"Amanda," she heard him whisper under his breath. His voice carried a note she'd never heard from him before...but she couldn't place it, he was too subtle for that. It dawned on Barbara that she knew little about what Connor had done before he had come to work on the investigation. She wondered if he somehow knew the woman in the photograph, but decided against asking.

Barbara walked alongside a slim table, picking up a recent edition of Tech Addict magazine. _Space Tourism On The Rise_ , read the main deck. She flipped to the article, her eyes skimming the print.

_The Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino offers scenic lunar views, complete with a full spa, entertainment theatre and rooftop taqueria._

Barbara rolled her eyes before she could get through the first paragraph. The rich always seemed to find the most ridiculous ways to spend money. Placing the magazine down, she went and sat in the chair next to Hank, crossing her arms and staring once more at the massive painting of Kamski on the wall. _Conceited,_ much? She scolded herself for being so judgmental. Perhaps if she had been one of the most influential minds behind the creation of androids, or some other equivalent, she would feel differently about herself.

Connor appeared satisfied with his peruse of the foyer, and came to stand back in front of her and Hank, just as a door opened and the android from before reappeared. "Elijah will see you now."

Barbara followed her into the room, which held an indoor pool, its water tinted red from lights underneath it's surface. Two androids identical to the one that had greeted them were clinging to the edge of the pool, lounging. Companion models, she assumed, though they didn't look quite like any she'd seen before. A man with dark hair and stood with his back to them as the android who'd greeted them helped him don a black robe.

Floor to ceiling windows covered an entire wall, mountain views on display beyond. Barbara had to admit she was taken aback by the beauty of the architecture, the structure of the room, and of course, the scenery on the opposite side of the glass panes. Following Hank and Connor towards the man who awaited them, his back still turned, she stepped aside to look more closely at the landscape outside. Snow fell down dreamily over an expansive forest, so beautiful even Bob Ross couldn't have captured it's magnificence.

"I'm Lieutenant Anderson, this is Connor," she was vaguely aware of Hank's voice making introductions while she was away from his side.

"And who's this?" Barbara tore herself from the vision in front of her and turned at the sound of Kamski's voice, biting her lip sheepishly. "Enjoying the scenery, are you?" He was a handsome man, dark hair, light eyes, towering over her even in her heels. The robe left his chest partially exposed, water droplets clinging to his taut torso.

"Spectacular," Barbara nodded, taking a few steps towards him and offering her hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kamski" she said. "I'm Detective Martin."

"Detective Martin," Kamski gave her a quick once over, something she probably wouldn't have noticed if she wasn't a detective, nodding in approval. "Please," he smiled. "Call me Elijah."

Hank cleared his throat, perhaps irritated by their exchange, focused on work. But Barbara had learned from experience that being a little flirtatious during interviews usually lead people to open up more. Especially if they were sleazy, and judging by the pretentiousness she'd examined from just the decorations in his home, Kamksi likely was.

"What can I do for you?" he addressed the three of them as a group, clasping his hands in front of him.

"Sir, we've been assigned to a case focusing on deviancy in androids," Hank began. "We know it's been awhile since you worked at CyberLife, but we thought you might be able to provide a little insight."

Kamski smirked. "Deviants," he said, his eyes flickered over to Barbara briefly. "Isn't it interesting? We've created near-perfect beings with infinite access to information, and now they're autonomous."

"It really was inevitable," he continued, glancing over at the android woman who stood next to him. "Humanities' greatest achievement threatens to be its downfall. Isn't it ironic?"

"Even more ironic coming from you," Barbara said, lifting an eyebrow, unconsciously crossing her arms over her chest. She didn't care to be lumped into the ball of humanity. But then again, was she really above it all as much as she'd convinced herself she was?

Kamski chuckled at this, nodded. "I suppose you're right."

"Something in the deviant's program seems to emulate emotion," Connor spoke up, always business. "We thought you might know something about how that occurs."

"All ideas are viruses that spread like epidemics," Kamski said. "Is the desire to be free a contagious disease?"

Barbara hoped Connor didn't feel obligated to answer, and she was glad when Hank spoke up. "Listen, I didn't come here to talk philosophy. The machines you created may be planning a revolution. Either you can tell us something that will be helpful, or we'll be on our way."

While she understood Hank's frustration, she knew it was the wrong approach. Judging by Kamski's reaction, he didn't like Hank's bluntness. But he stepped forward, towards Connor.

"What do you think of all this Connor?" Kamski asked.

"I think we need to solve the case before the situation escalates." Connor said.

Kamski chuckled at this, lifting his head to make eye contact. "Obviously. But you've been programmed to say that…." he stepped forward, and Barbara noticed that Connor was a few inches taller than him, as his eyes shifted downward to meet Kamski's. "What do you really want?"

Something ominous was in the air now, and she felt Hank nudge her lightly with his elbow. He felt it, too.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd let _us_ ask the questions," Connor answered, his tone firm, more indomitable than usual. It was unexpected, coming from him, so often mild-mannered and polite. But Barbara realized she liked the sound of him standing his ground.

Kamski turned, gesturing towards the woman who'd let them into his home. "Chloe?" he asked, extending a hand and turning to her. "You've heard of the Turing Test, I'm sure." he placed his hands on the android's shoulders, turning her to face them. "Simply a review of algorithms and computing capacity."

Releasing her, he took a few steps forward. "What's more interesting to me is the idea of a machine's capability to have empathy. I call it 'the Kamski test'."

He turned his attention back to Chloe, who stood motionless at his unspoken request. "Now, Chloe here is one of the first intelligent models developed by CyberLife," he turned her cheek to face him. "Young, and beautiful forever," Kamski's fingers traced Chloe's jawline. "But what is it, really?"

Barbara was half compelled to check the watch on her wrist. Kamski sure enjoyed the sound of his own voice. She knew better based on her read of the room.

"A piece of plastic imitating a human?" he asked. "Or a living being, with a soul?"

Kamski whirled to the small table behind him, opening a door and brandishing a handgun. He put his hand on Chloe's shoulder, and she sunk to her knees in front of Connor. Barbara knew where this was going, and every muscle in her body tensed, her stomach dropping, as she contemplated the best response.

"So Connor," Kamski stepped forward and placed the weapon in her partner's hand. "You now get to answer that question." Connor looked at it for a moment, as though it was foreign object, his eyes darting towards her and Hank, but Kamski stepped in front of them, blocking the attempt for contact, consultation.

Kamski lifted Connor's arm, moving behind him, aiming the gun at Chloe. The android remained calm, unaffected, waiting. "Now, if you destroy this machine, I'll answer all your questions."

Kamski backed away, walking to Connor's opposite shoulder. "But, if you don't, because you feel it's alive, you'll leave here without any information to help your case."

"Okay, I think we're done here," Hank's voice was surprisingly steady. "Come on, Connor, let's go. Sorry to get you out of your pool." Hank began moving towards the exit, but Barbara felt rooted in her current position.

Kamski ignored Hank. "Not yet. Connor, what's more important?" Kamski asked, ignoring Hank. When Barbara faced them again, Connor was staring at him. "Your mission, or the life of this android?"

Connor's LED was rapidly blinking yellow. "Are you just an obedient machine, or a living being, endowed with free will..."

"Okay, enough!" Hank exclaimed. "Connor, let's go."

Barbara remained silent, the same terror she'd felt seeing Connor lying lifeless on the floor gripping her again. Only this time, it was accompanied by something much stronger than she was familiar with….white hot and burning a hole through the pit of her stomach.

"Pull the trigger..." Kamski urged.

"Connor!" Hank exclaimed, and he looked desperately between the two of them. "No."

"And I'll tell you everything you want to know," the devil at Connor's shoulder finished.

It felt as though the air pressure in the room had dropped, weighing heavily on Barbara's chest, tightening at her shoulders, constricting her movements and forcing her to standby while the situation played out. Even if she wanted to intervene, she couldn't make Connor's decisions _for_ him.

After a terse hour that only lasted a moment, Connor exhaled, his arm relaxing, handing the weapon back to Kamski. Barbara felt her shoulders sag in relief, Hank turned around and nearly stormed to the door, his boots clomping loudly along the tile. Barbara stood back, watching Connor stare at the floor, a mixture of shame and degradation written across his features. For something that wasn't supposed to experience emotions, he'd sure been awfully expressive recently.

"Fascinating," Kamski chuckled. "CyberLife's last chance to save humanity...is itself a deviant."

Connor's LED turned red, briefly, as he took in Kamski's words, but his face became stoic, indifferent. "I'm," he murmured. "I'm not a deviant." She wasn't convinced by the tone of his voice, but it didn't matter.

"You preferred to spare a machine rather than accomplish your mission," Kamski lifted Chloe to her feet. "You saw a living being in this android. You showed empathy."

Hank had stopped in the doorway of the room, as Kamski continued.

"At some point, Connor, you're going to have to choose a side. Will you betray your own people, or stand up against your creators? What's better for you between those two evils? Especially after you've betrayed so many of your own kind?"

Barbara couldn't keep watching this, her anger finally bubbling over as she watched Connor's expression become tortured again. Stepping between him and Kamski, she placed her hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to listen to this," she said. "Let's go."

Connor took the line and finally moved, turning on his heel towards the exit. He followed in the same path as Hank had while she stared Kamski in the eyes.

"Detective Martin," he smirked. "I'm sorry we had to meet under such circumstances. I do believe we would have gotten on quite well otherwise." He may have been ribbing her, or being serious, but with everything that just happened still spinning in her mind, she couldn't be certain. Nevertheless, she wouldn't afford him the indignity of a reaction.

"With all due respect, Elijah," she offered a brilliantly fake smile. "I have to disagree." She gave him a curt nod before she followed after Connor and Hank, relieved to be done with the confrontation.

"By the way," Kamski called out. "I always leave an emergency exit in my programs. You never know..."

Connor stiffened in the doorway briefly, but didn't turn to look back at the man as he trailed after Hank to the snowy outside. Barbara did the same. It wasn't until the door closed behind them and she exhaled slowly that she realized she'd been holding her breath.

"Why didn't you shoot?" she heard Hank ask Connor as they walked down the pathway to the home towards Hank's parked car. He whipped around just as Barbara walked past him. Hank, of course, was just curious, but based on Connor's current body language, he was clearly upset.

"I just saw that girl's eyes...and I couldn't, that's all." Connor said defensively.

"You're always saying you'd do anything to accomplish your mission," Hank quirked an eyebrow. "That was our chance to learn something and you let it go."

"Yeah, I know what I should've done, I told you, I couldn't!" Connor exclaimed. She'd never seen him so blatantly flustered before, Hank's line of questioning was clearly upsetting him. Barbara paused at the end of the walkway, turning back to look at the two men. "I'm sorry, okay?"

Hank stared at him for a drawn out moment, then shrugged. "Well, maybe you did the right thing," he brushed past Connor and walked towards his car. Connor's eyes followed him as he got into his car, then flickered over to Barbara, who still stood observing him.

Connor took a few steps forward, expression troubled. "I'm sorry, Barbara, I should have-"

She shook her head, reaching out to place her hand on the small of his back as he fell into step beside her. Seeing him distressed was so foreign, he'd been the only partner in their investigation that had yet to lose their composure in some capacity. Even yesterday, when he'd been lying on the floor doing the android equivalent of bleeding out in her arms he had seemed strangely unaffected. After what she'd witnessed just exactly what he was capable of, she wondered why she felt so protective. He had all the capabilities to be a deadly, menacing peace of weaponry, coupled with infinite intelligence. But right now, he just looked like a lost, broken man. There was something almost youthful to his confusion and insecurity.

"Don't apologize," she said, letting her touch linger for a moment as she patted him reassuringly. "It's okay."

"Did I do the right thing?" he asked her, and Hank's car started, he honked once at the pair still standing within inches of his front bumper. Barbara let her hand fall back to her side.

"Do _you_ think you did the right thing?" she asked.

Connor stared at her for a moment, like he was trying to figure out what she wanted to hear, not what he really thought. This wasn't the Connor she'd met just over a week ago. Things had developed slowly, but the change was evident. "Yes?" his voice raised slightly in a question.

"Then that's all that matters," she murmured, and stepped away so she could resume her spot in the backseat of Hank's car.

Barbara felt unstable, as she couldn't exactly offer him any words of advice or of comfort, when she herself was spiraling. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew what she had to do. But being impulsive wasn't the solution, she had to think on it. She only hoped Hank and Connor could forgive her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Can't believe we're already 10 chapters in...I hope you believe me now when I said this was gonna be a slow burn. Thanks for all your feedback, sweeties! So far, it's been a lot of fun.
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://from-the-clouds.tumblr.com) (@from-the-clouds). Here is a link to this fic's [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLvB0pQ_9KkzKIWFSUZ42ZOK7dSM68UcIg).


	11. 11 | Renegade

**CHAPTER 11: RENEGADE**

**NOVEMBER 8, 2038**

**8:33PM**

The steady pound of her feet against the treadmill had been consistent for what felt like only minutes, but she knew it had been much longer. No matter how long she kept it up, it didn't stop the worries swirling through her head. **Barbara** wasn't really a runner, but it was the only healthy way to deal with... _whatever_ it was she was feeling. It was a combination of an ache in her heart and a building tension inside of her that was coiled so tight, she felt at any moment it would burst, and tear her apart with it. Drowning her sorrows in a bottle of liquor, Hank's method of handling stress, seemed unlikely to help.

What she wanted to do was _run_. Really run, like get in her car and drive until her tank was empty, flee the state, the country _maybe_. Canada didn't allow androids, perhaps she could avoid all of this and move there. For the past few years she'd had a steady fantasy of moving out West and becoming a rancher, to spend her days out in a desert with the sun beating down on her back. Barbara enjoyed envisioning all the possibilities, it was a nice distraction, but it was useless to imagine. Something had always kept her in Detroit, even at the worst times of her life. It was her own conscious maybe, or some higher power she had yet to acknowledge.

The whole investigation had been too much, right from the start. What had happened today was the last straw. At this rate, it seemed it wouldn't be long until the FBI took over, it was an issue of national security.

Initially, Barbara had thought she was being sensitive, until today she'd found herself comforting _Connor_ of all people. The android who she'd first regarded as a machine impervious to feelings was defeated and dejected after being mercilessly taunted by Kamski. Although, the more she'd examined him, the more it seemed he wasn't as impervious as she'd originally thought.

The disdain humans had for androids had always puzzled her. Every decade before her had seen different minority groups be targeted and marginalized, and ultimately triumph in their fight for equality. Barbara was struggling to see how this was any different. Maybe it was easier to justify, because androids weren't _human_.

It was obvious there was something more there. Barbara been wrong about Connor, even from the beginning. He was capable of more than what he was programmed to be. He was kind, compassionate...empathetic. He had changed over the course of their investigation, and she had been too jaded by her desire to disconnect from the world around her to notice.

It dawned on her that she was watching Connor's own undoing. He was fighting against himself, against his people, and for what? For humans who were only using him for their convenience, who'd toss him onto another case if this one was a success. If it wasn't...well, he'd already explained to her what would happen. And the thought of it all broke her heart. She wasn't entirely sure _why_ it hurt so much, but she knew it was naive to deny that she'd come to care about him.

Hitting the stop button on the treadmill, she realized her knees had gone weak and she was struggling for air. Folding over, she took in greedy gasps and closed her eyes. It was obvious what needed to be done, and at this point she was stalling. If she was lucky, Fowler would still be in his office.

Taking a cursory, hot shower, she shoved her dirty clothes into her locker and hurried back to the floor of the precinct.

"Barbara," she heard her name as she passed the hallway of holding cells at the back of the precinct, and saw James sitting at his post in front of them, monitoring the few people who'd been arrested that evening.

Since he'd asked her to drinks and Hank had teased her about his crush, she'd been avoiding him. Barbara did owe him an apology, and she couldn't continue to blow him off.

Glancing across the precinct, she saw Fowler still in his office, hunched over his computer. Hopefully he wasn't leaving anytime soon, but this would only take a minute.

"Hey, James," she answered,venturing just inside the hallway as he left his post to greet her. On the desk behind him sat a steaming cup of coffee, a small TV on top of it playing coverage of another nonviolent protest lead by Markus and several other androids. Deviancy continued to spread.

"I didn't know you were working late," he observed.

"Oh, I'm not," she said. "I technically was off awhile ago, I thought I'd get a quick workout in. I have to talk to Fowler."

"Good for you," he smiled. "Wish I was that motivated."

Barbara pressed her lips into a weak smile. "You're still here?"

He shrugged. "I've been working overnights," he gestured to the news behind him. "Looks like things are getting a little crazy."

"Yeah," Barbara winced. An amateur video of several androids being gunned down while running away from armed officers played behind the reporter's narration on the TV screen. Even though James stood in front of her, she was having trouble keeping her eyes off the screen.

"You've probably got your hands full with all this going on," he observed.

Nodding, she tilted her head towards the direction of the captain's office. "That's what I'm going to talk to Fowler about."

"Is there a problem?" his face twisted into an expression of concern.

"It's a difficult case," she grimaced, surprised at how open she was letting herself be.

"What, working with Anderson and that...prototype thing they sent over not going well?" She might have laughed at the jab a few days ago, she knew he was only teasing, but after today she couldn't even fake a smile at the remark. "Aren't you a little worried that Robo-Cop will turn on you at some point?" he asked.

_Of course._ He didn't seem like the type, but his adoption of Gavin's mean-spirited nickname for Connor made her weary. She didn't know why she was surprised. James didn't typically hang around Reed, that was part of the reason she liked him...but perhaps he wasn't as different as she thought.

"I'm not worried about Connor, no," she said, and was surprised when her tone took a rather thwarting turn.

James seemed to miss her defensiveness, and she was kind of glad. She'd spent too much time the last few days arguing with people. When he didn't answer right away, she changed the subject. "I meant to tell you I'm sorry I couldn't make it out for drinks the other night," she said. "This whole thing has been a lot to handle and I'll definitely have to make it up to you sometime."

"It's alright, I understand," he said. "You just get to buy the first round," he smirked at her, winking.

It would never happen. But at least she'd cleared it up so things were no longer uncomfortable. Barbara made to turn on her heel and leave the hallway, but was interrupted.

"Is that who I think it is?" she heard someone exclaim from behind her. Barbara usually didn't entertain the attention of anyone locked up in the holding cells, but vaguely recognized the voice.

When she turned, Barbara groaned inwardly. "Dan Shepley," she said flatly, regarding the floppy-haired teen who she'd seen pretty regularly back when she was an officer. Quite the troublemaker, she herself had arrested him more than once.

"Officer Martin, how've you been?" his arms were pressed up against the glass of the cell wall, smile beaming at her.

" _Detective_ Martin," she corrected him, but tentatively stepped forward.

"Oh shit, you got a promotion?" he grinned, his smile wide, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Guess that's why I haven't seen you in so long. You're with the big dogs now. You know, I never really pegged you as a cop anyways, couldn't ever picture you writing speeding tickets and arresting kids like me for underage drinking forever."

Barbara sighed. Something in her gut twisted at the sight of the boy in front of her. He'd grown several inches since the last time she'd seen him. For a kid his age, he had quite the record, in and out of juvenile detention centers and rarely in school where he belonged. "I see you're staying out of trouble," Barbara stated sarcastically. "What'd you do this time?"

It had always been somewhat innocent crimes; truancy, smoking and drinking underage, petty theft, and the occasional fight. But it had been awhile since his name had come up in the precinct. Barbara glanced at the file next to his cell and took it out. "Don't lie to me, cause I can find out."

The crooked smile fell from his face and his arms slouched to his sides. Barbara opened the file and stared at the words in front of her. _Possession of illegal substances with intent to distribute._

Barbara's jaw clenched as she read the words, then snapped the file closed and placed it back next to the cell where she'd found it. When her eyes met Dan's again, he wasn't smiling anymore.

Crossing her arms and biting her lower lip, she glared at him. "You told me you were going to cut the shit and get a job, start going to school again. What the hell is this?"

"Listen, Martin, I really tried," he began. "I've been real good, for a long time. But last month my mom lost her job and the bills started piling up..." he lowered his voice. "I tried to get a job….no one wants to hire me with my record."

"Fuck," Barbara heard herself say. Why she had such a soft spot for the delinquent in front of her, she never fully understood. He was _smart_. Charismatic. Sure, his best traits were put to use in all the wrong ways, but his behavior was the result of a system. Barbara wondered how many kids like him had their talents wasted every day. How many of her own mistakes growing up would have put her where he was right now?

"I'm in deep shit, aren't I?" when she glanced at him, he didn't look so confident anymore. Eyes widened, mouth pinched, voice cracking over the words, like he was holding back something.

Barbara found herself on the verge of tears as she stared at the boy in front of her. It was a combination of everything, she supposed. But she had to consider why she only seemed to attract those who were troubled and austere. Probably because she was, too.

"You're gonna be fine." Looking over her shoulder, she saw James engrossed in the news. "Don't say shit to anyone, you understand?" she asked, voice a harsh whisper. Dan nodded, looking hopeful. "And get a lawyer."

"You always understood," Dan stated, just as she was about to step away. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," she answered. "Do better."

* * *

Fowler was packing up when Barbara finally made it to him.

Standing in the doorway to his office, she timidly approached, wondering the various ways this conversation could play out. Fowler was never super warm, but he'd always been at least considerate towards her, and she hoped that would extend to this situation. Barbara tapped on the frame of his office door.

"Captain Fowler?" she asked, watching him place his work tablet into a briefcase, his coat over his arm. He was on his way out of the office for the evening. "May I have a word?

"Detective Martin," he answered, glancing up at her. "I thought you left already. Of course, have a seat."

"I won't keep you long," she assured him as he settled back into his chair. Mirroring his movements, she placed herself gingerly on the seat across from his desk.

"Is something the matter?" he asked, eyeing her body language.

Barbara wasn't really sure how to preface the conversation, and so she cut to the chase. "I want off the deviancy case."

Fowler quirked an eyebrow, but gave nothing more to indicate a reaction. "I don't even think this is a necessary conversation," he said. "I spoke with Special Agent Perkins earlier this evening, and the FBI will be taking over the investigation. I was planning on letting you and Hank know tomorrow."

"Oh, great," she grimaced. This was supposed to be good news, but it certainly wasn't. It only meant less time for Connor.

"May I ask why you wanted to be removed?" he inquired, leaning forward. "Is Hank giving you trouble?"

Using her Lieutenant's behavior as the reason for her quitting would have been much easier than being honest with Fowler. Barbara could have lied, but she couldn't throw Hank under the bus when she was already on such thin ice with him. Hank and Fowler's relationship had also been strained, and he was probably only a letter or two away from being suspended or even fired.

"No, it's not Hank," she shook her head and avoided his eyes.

How could she be honest while sharing the least possible amount of information with him? Was omitting the truth a lie? After a certain point, being vague probably got into a gray area.

"It's been pretty mentally taxing," Barbara said. That was true.

Fowler frowned. "Martin, if I recall that's been your reasoning for wanting to be removed from several cases over the years...is there something going on with you that I should be aware of?"

Shaking her head no, Barbara vehemently denied. "Not at all, things have just been crazy, you know how this job is." That sentence held absolutely no meaning, it was all filler, but she wasn't sure how else to answer him without causing an alarm.

"I know you've dealt with some personal issues over the years, and the specifics are none of my business," Fowler said. "But if you're feeling burnt out, perhaps some time off could be beneficial-"

"I'm okay," Barbara nearly cut him off. Work was her only distraction from her personal problems, she couldn't imagine what would happen if she took time off and was left alone to deal with them. "It's really just this case in particular."

"If you insist," Fowler let it go, and she thanked God silently. He didn't seem fully convinced but that was an issue for a later time.

Barbara chewed on her lower lip for a moment, and Fowler continued on. "Is there anything else you needed to talk about?" he asked.

Shaking her head no, Barbara stood from her desk. "No, that's everything. I didn't mean to keep you from getting home."

"It's fine," he said. "I suggest you go home and get some rest yourself. I'll find another case for you as soon as I can, and I'm sure you'll hit the ground running."

"Thank you," she said, turning to walk towards the door. Barbara paused, turning a moment. "This is a weird question...do you know what's going to happen to Connor once the FBI takes over?"

"The RK800?" Fowler shrugged. "It likely will return to CyberLife, as it was only present to help with the deviant investigation."

Barbara nodded, trying to keep her expression neutral. "Okay. Thanks again, Fowler."

"Goodnight Detective," he said.

_I'm guessing it'll go back to CyberLife_. The same CyberLife who Connor had mentioned would kill him if he failed. And if the FBI was taking over, that certainly meant failure, right? She was so overwhelmed by her own emotions she hadn't even stopped to consider what this might mean for him.

Backing from the room, Barbara adjusted the messenger bag over her shoulder, wondering how she always managed to be one step behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is quite the deviation - ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) - from a normal chapter in this series, but I hope you enjoyed it. Lots of angst so I'm sorry for that. A look into Barbara's past, and a bit more insight into how she feels about Connor. Let me know what you think, I've appreciated the recent feedback, it's super motivating to know you enjoy what I'm creating!


	12. 12 | Last Chance

**CHAPTER 12 | LAST CHANCE**

**NOVEMBER 9, 2038**

**9:35 AM**

_This is your last chance, Connor._

When Connor opened his eyes, he was standing alongside Hank in Captain Fowler's office. Amanda's final warning continued to echo in his auditory unit, as though it got stuck somewhere in his information processor. Perhaps it was intentional, he wouldn't put it past Amanda.

"The FBI will be taking over the deviant investigation," Fowler said flatly, the cadence of his voice seemed far too uninterested for the significance of the statement.

Hank looked incredulous, standing to Connor's right, arms crossed. The last time he'd been in this office, Hank had spent the entire time lamenting their partnership. But time had changed their relationship, Connor sensed a camaraderie between them, even despite his continued failures. If anything...the worse Connor performed, the more he and Hank seemed to get along. But it had been all for naught.

"Can't we get a little more time? We're so-" Hank began, but Fowler cut him off quickly.

"Hank," he said. "This is now an issue of national security. We don't have the resources to deal with it. It's on the verge of becoming a civil war."

"Fuck that," Hank argued. "You can't just let them take over, we've nearly solved the case-"

"You've complained for years about how much you hate androids," Fowler shot back. "And now you're going to argue to keep working on the case? Will you make up your mind already?"

"We're so close, Jeffrey," Hank leaned forward, lowering his voice. "I know we can solve it. Can't you just back me up on this?"

Captain Fowler shook his head. "There's no argument to be had, it's the fucking FBI. The android returns to CyberLife, and I'll find you a new assignment. Besides, we've been in over our heads and we need your help again on the Red Ice Task Force."

"What about Barbara?" Hank asked. "What the hell are you going to tell Martin? I know she's not going to be happy about this."

Connor was surprised Barbara hadn't joined them for this meeting. He'd seen her coat and bag slung over her desk chair when he'd arrived at the precinct but she hadn't made an appearance. It wasn't really any of his business where she was, but it seemed unlike her to miss a meeting with the captain.

Fowler's brows knit together briefly before relaxing again. "I already spoke to Martin about this yesterday." he answered.

"Yesterday?" Hank asked. "When?"

"After you left she came into my office and asked to be removed from the case. I'll likely be putting her back on homicides," Fowler said, crossing his arms. "She didn't tell you this?"

Hank frowned, his anger turning into something else...something that resembled sadness, but the coarse grunt of his voice didn't let onto the emotion. "No, she didn't fucking tell me this. Why'd she ask to be removed?"

"I'd ask her, Hank," Fowler said. Connor assumed there was probably some unspoken agreement between the Captain and his employees about disclosing the details of private conversations. "I was under the impression she'd already spoken to you about it."

Hank didn't say anything, but ran his fingers through his hair. "No, she didn't say anything to me about it," he scoffed, incredulous.

Connor had noticed that she'd seemed a little more quiet than usual the day before, especially after the incident with Kamski. He wondered why she had chosen to depart from the investigation, and briefly worried that it had to do with his performance before pushing the thought away. Connor avoided the thought as he felt the instabilities in his systems stir once more. There was a bigger question right now that hovered over him, etching itself in his programming, and it had to deal with his own fate.

"Listen," Fowler spoke up as Hank leaned against his chair, he seemed to be contemplating the information that had been thrown at him. "I'm sorry, Hank. But it's over. You can't solve every case...it's better if we all just move on."

Hank leaned on the chair in front of him and bowed his head, taking in a deep breath. Connor half expected him to try and argue more. Instead, he lifted his head and took a quick glance at Fowler and his partner before reluctantly leaving the room.

Connor nodded at Fowler before following Hank to their trio of desks and closing the office door behind him. He took an unnecessary breath, before following after the lieutenant.

Hank had already begun sulking at his desk, which wasn't unusual. Now, more than ever, Connor understood why. He perched on Hank's desk, leaning forward slightly to rest his elbows on his knees. Connor always had options, he'd been given opportunities to make his own decisions. Right now, he was more than tempted to disobey the current command lingering on his HUD.

_Return to CyberLife._

If he continued with the investigation, he couldn't be a deviant. That was what he'd been programmed to do. If anything, following his current command was the complete opposite of his whole purpose here.

"We can't give up," Connor said. "We're so close."

Hank looked up at him briefly with red-rimmed eyes. The lieutenant looked tired, run-down, more so than usual. Connor had seen Barbara look at him with a similar visage yesterday. He wondered if he was responsible for both his partners clear exhaustion. Or maybe humans were more fragile than he'd originally estimated.

"Have you ever considered that we're on the wrong side, Connor?" Hank asked. "Maybe we're just delaying the inevitable. Maybe all they want is to just be free..."

Connor frowned, contemplating how to respond. He had to continue the mission...they'd lost Barbara...and now it seemed like he didn't even have Hank on his side. "When the deviants rise up, there will be chaos. Humans may be in danger. We could have stopped it. Maybe we still can..."

"But do you want to?" Hank leaned back in his chair and looked at him, skeptical. "You refused to kill those Tracis at the Eden Club. You refused to shoot that android at Kamski's place. When you did that, you chose empathy, Connor. Empathy is a human emotion."

Connor pretended that his words didn't add to the storm of instability brewing within him, shaking his head. "That doesn't mean anything. I don't know why I did it." Connor tried to hide the bit of defensiveness he felt as he spoke.

Hank shrugged, but didn't speak, staring at Connor for a moment. Connor knew if he was going to do this, he'd have to be quick. He'd have to disobey Fowler and the lieutenant, even the current command on his checklist. Something flitted across his consciousness. He wondered what all his recent instabilities could possibly mean. All he knew was that he'd rather die trying than go back to CyberLife without a fight.

He studied the man before him, for what was likely the last time. Despite everything, he had enjoyed working alongside the lieutenant. It hadn't been as challenging as he'd initially anticipated. Over time, getting to know Hank had felt….natural. Maybe they had more in common than he thought.

Connor pondered what he knew about the man, hoping to find something meaningful to say before he blatantly disobeyed him.

"I know you've been through a lot, Hank," Connor began, somewhat tentatively. "Maybe it's time that you move past it. Get on with your life. Just a...plastic cop's opinion," Connor felt himself smile, considering the nickname he'd heard other cops at the station whisper under their breaths whenever he passed them. "But I had to say it."

Hank nodded, a look of approval crossing through his features. He looked as if he was going to respond, until his eyes moved to something off to his right, his expression hardening. Connor followed his gaze, and he spotted Barbara approaching them, her jaw set as she beelined for her desk, a mug of coffee in her hand.

She was wearing an oversized red sweater. Connor recognized the garment as the same sweater she'd been wearing on the day he started the investigation. Despite the current circumstances, he felt something stir at the memory. He didn't know what to make of it. It seemed like so much time had passed since then, but at the same time, none at all.

"Well," Hank said as Barbara approached them, her eyes flickering from Connor to the lieutenant as he snorted. "Look who it is."

Barbara tensed up at the sound of Hank's voice. "What's wrong?"

"Don't play dumb, kid," Hank grimaced. "Fowler just told me you asked to be removed from the case yesterday. You didn't think to tell us first?"

"Oh," she answered, shrugging as she sat back into her desk chair and crossed her legs. "I didn't think it was a big deal." Barbara lifted the mug of coffee to her lips and took a sip.

There was something counterfeit, forced about her ignorance. She was holding herself far too stiffly. It seemed to Connor she was trying to cover up something else, something more genuine...remorse, maybe. He couldn't really be sure, especially not when considering _who_ she was.

"Well it would've been nice to fucking know that before I spoke with Fowler just now. You betrayed us!" Hank leaned forward.

_"Betrayed?"_ She asked, placing her cup of coffee down and crossing her arms. "Really, Hank? The FBI is going to taking over anyways."

"Bullshit," he said. "Don't lie to me. There's something going on that you don't want to talk about."

Barbara's mouth twisted into an incredulous smile. "What would I lie about, Hank?" She put down her cup of coffee.

"Forget it." Hank just shook his head, choosing not to continue the argument. "It's all fucking bullshit." He lowered his head to look back at his desk, sulking again. Barbara stared at him awhile, the facade of apathy falling away to reveal a more timid expression just as Hank turned away from her.

She lifted her chin to look at Connor, who still remained seated on the edge of Hank's desk. "Fowler told me you're going back to CyberLife," she stated.

Connor nodded. "I have no choice. I'll be deactivated and analyzed to find out why I failed."

Barbara bit down on her lower lip, shaking her head. Her face twisted into an unfamiliar expression, browns pulling together and her eyes cast downward. "So that's it, then? What if you didn't do anything wrong?"

Connor shrugged. "There has to be something," he said. "Or else we wouldn't be having this conversation right now."

"What if it's not that simple? What if this case just can't be solved?"

Every case had a solution, it was all a matter of how to find the answer. Connor knew that. But that didn't seem to be the answer to her question, and it certainly wasn't what she wanted to hear. If he had known she'd been so distraught, he wouldn't have offered the information in the first place. He wondered why she seemed so disappointed especially if she'd been the one who'd asked to be removed from the case.

"What if it's not _your_ fault, it might be mine, or Hank's, or-"

"Barbara," Hank cut in. "Get the hell out of here. I'm not gonna sit and listen to you act like you care when you bailed on us behind our back."

"Hank, I-"

"I said get outta here!" Hank raised his voice.

Barbara's eyes widened at his outburst. For a terse moment she looked between Connor and Hank, defeated. Her eyes flickered back to Connor's for a moment, and she opened her mouth as if to say something before shaking her head and closing it again. Backing away from the desk, she retreated to the break room without another word.

Hank groaned as she disappeared down the hallway. "God _fucking_ dammit," he muttered under his breath. Time seemed to move quickly during his inaction, until he lifted his head up at the sound of a familiar voice at the end of the hallway.

"They sure don't waste any time at the FBI..." Hank murmured. "Here comes Perkins, that motherfucker…" Connor followed his eyes once more and saw the special agent walking down the hall towards them.

Connor realized he had to act now. "We can't stop now," he leaned forward towards Hank. "I'm sure there's something in the evidence we collected. Once the FBI takes it, we have nothing else."

"I appreciate your enthusiasm," Hank began. "But you heard Fowler, we're off the case."

Connor stood from the desk. "Can you at least help me, Lieutenant? There has to be a solution in the evidence. I just need more time."

"Connor-" Hank began.

Connor was desperate, all the turmoil and instability he'd been feeling was rising, rising because he truly had nothing else. Hank was his last shot at help, his last chance to make it out of this without disappointing Amanda again. His last chance to _live._

"If I don't solve this case, CyberLife will _destroy_ me," he insisted. "Five minutes, that's all I ask."

Hank huffed, closing his eyes for a moment before rising to his feet. "The key to the basement is on my desk..." he said, brushing past him. "But you'd better hurry, I can't distract them for long..."

Connor nodded as he grabbed the keycard from Hank's desk, pocketing it as he strode carefully and calmly towards the Archive Room so as not to raise any suspicion.

_00:05:00, 04:59, 04:58, 04:57..._

He passed the break room, and saw Barbara through it's glass walls, sitting at a table in the corner with her head in her hands. The movement of him passing by must have caught her eye, and she glanced up at him, her expression shifted from one of dejection to intrigue, her chin lifting and eyes narrowing. Connor gave her a quick nod. If he wanted to be successful, he only had a few minutes to do his research.

"Hey Perkins! You cocksucker-" He heard Hank slur, but didn't have time to look at the commotion he was causing, the sound of a fist connecting with flesh echoing behind him.

Connor wasn't so sure he could find what he was looking for. He had lied to Hank, he didn't really know if the answer was in the evidence. But it was worth one last shot. He didn't want to consider what would happen next if he was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updates, I've had a lot going on. This chapter was originally going to be about 2x as long, but I thought I'd split it up into two, for the ease of editing, so I could get this posted sooner. I edited this in a caffeine-fueled haze, so while I worked quick, I don't know if the quality is that great. If you notice any errors, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you also for the most recent feedback on this series! It's really such a great confidence booster. I'm always self-concious about my writing abilities, so the kind words are really reassuring. I guess I can only get better with practice and feedback, anyhow!
> 
> Hope you all are doing well!


	13. 13 | Departure

**CHAPTER 13 | DEPARTURE**

**NOVEMBER 9, 2038**

**9:59 AM**

It only took **Connor** 0.5 seconds to access the blueprint of the precinct to figure out where the archive room was. Located below the main floor of the office and in a much more secure area, Connor had to use Hank's keycard to gain access to the stairwell. Just as he pulled open the door and caught sight of the dimly lit passage below, he was interrupted.

"Hey, Connor!" Detective Reed appeared at the opposite end of the hallway. "Yeah, I'm talking to you, asshole!"

"Where you going?" Reed asked, and Connor decided not to answer. "We don't need any more plastic pricks around here, or didn't anyone tell you?"

Connor chose to ignore him, though now the insult stirred something inside of him that it never had before. He couldn't quite describe it, but he felt like he understood Hank and Barbara's distaste for the man more than ever. But bigger problems lay on the horizon. The clock was ticking. Closing the door behind him as Detective Reed continued to call out insults, Connor made his way to the catalogued evidence.

It took another swipe of the keycard and a trial and error of figuring out Hank's personal password, but once Connor had figured it out, he accessed the container.

_00:04:07, 04:06, 04:05..._

He looked at the array of androids they'd collected, that were shut down and maimed. Perhaps he could reactivate them, if the others contained the appropriate biocomponents. Maybe one of them knew the answer to his questions. _Jericho._ This place of solitude for deviants, a safe space where androids lived in peace. It had to be real. And if it was, he was sure to find Markus there.

He focused on the android he'd been forced to kill at the Broadcast Center, the deviant who'd nearly taken his life. The JB300 likely was the only one of the other androids here who had any immediate connection with Markus. After a quick scan, it became clear he could reactivate the deviant by replacing a few of it's biocomponents.

Connor worked quickly as the timer continued to countdown across his HUD. It took about a minute, but he hoped the time investment would give him the information that he needed. He replaced missing biocomponents from the other androids collected into the JB300. When the last component was in place, Connor stepped back as the android reanimated.

Blinded by the incident, the android's optical units stared blankly ahead, which worked to Connor's favor. "Where...where am I?" he asked.

"I need your help," Connor began, and he found it wasn't hard to lace panic into his tone. "I need to get to Jericho."

The android frowned. "I don't recognize your voice...," his voice pitched up in a note of fear. "How do I know...you aren't the deviant hunter?"

Connor stepped away from the android, studying it's optical units to be sure he'd correctly assessed it'd been blinded. He quickly scanned the remaining evidence left on the shelves, what he'd initially deemed as unlikely to provide any additional useful information. The jacket belonging to the android he'd chased on the roof, the relic from Carlos Ortiz's bathroom, a tablet that displayed Markus's speech from the Broadcast Center. _Of course._

_00:03:20, 03:19, 03:18..._

Connor watched the video, analyzing Markus's vocal patterns and integrating it into his programming, temporarily incorporating it into his speech patterns and vocal modulator before approaching the JB300 again.

"Who's there?" it asked, LED flashing a bright red.

"Everything is all right, don't worry," Connor soothed, the deep lilt of Markus's speech was incredibly convincing.

"Markus?" It's head rose. "Is that you? I'm sorry I couldn't make it."

"Don't be sorry," Connor said. "You'll be all right now, I came to take you home. Give me the location to Jericho, we have to leave now."

"The location of Jericho?" it confirmed. "Yes, of course."

Connor reached out to probe it's memory, hesitating slightly. The last time he'd attempted this with the same android, he'd nearly been killed. But he was so close to getting what he needed. The exchange of information took only a few moments, Connor shuddered as the energy pulsed through them, immediately storing the information in his memory, pulling away.

"Markus?" the JB300 stopped him, his hand reaching for his shoulder. "Is that you, Markus?"

"Don't leave me, Markus!" Connor stepped away and pushed himself off the android, it's head dropping to it's chest as it deactivated again.

He had the information he needed, but Connor stayed still, unable to pull his focus off the android in front of him. He pushed away the feeling of volatility. He didn't have time for this, not now. All he needed to do was to leave the station undetected.

"It's about time," a voice from behind Connor cut through the still silence of the room. "You know, I've been dreaming about this since the first second I saw you…." He'd been so focused on finding the necessary evidence that he hadn't heard Detective Reed enter the room.

"Don't do it, Gavin," Connor said, hesitant to look at the detective behind him. He heard the man's footsteps on the ground, determined where he was in relation to himself without so much as looking over his shoulder. "I've figured out how to stop the deviants."

"It doesn't matter, I know you're off the case…." he said, and Connor turned to face him, finding a gun pointed at his chest. "And now I'm going to make it definitive..."

A split second before he pulled the trigger Connor ducked, taking cover behind the interface he'd used to open the evidence container, the gunshot rang out in the contained space. As Detective Reed rounded the corner, Connor grabbed him and attempted to pry the gun out of his hands, blocking blows. He so badly wanted to diffuse the situation, he didn't want to cause any more violence or destruction. But the detective seemed hell-bent on dragging him out of that room and ending any opportunity for Connor to continue.

Connor wasn't operating at peak performance. All it took was one sharp blow to the stomach that sent him tumbling backwards, his weight pitching back against the interface, and he was cornered. Trapped in front of Detective Reed's handgun as the man stalked forward, a wall of unwavering confidence and determination. A devious chuckle echoed in his throat. "The superhuman plastic cop...not so amazing anymore, are you?"

Gavin raised his handgun as he pressed his hand down, forcing Connor's shoulder back against the interface, stripping him of his last shred of dignity. This was it. One mistake during combat, and now he was going to lose everything. Connor closed his eyes. He wondered what was worse - being shut down by CyberLife, or being killed right as he was about to solve the investigation.

"Well, Connor," Gavin said. "Now you're going to get what's coming to you."'

_"No,"_ a voice from over Detective Reed's shoulder pried him off of Connor, the gun in his hands falling to the floor, unprepared for the assault as he turned to face his attacker. _"You are."_

Standing behind him was Barbara, her eyes dark. She wound up and swung, a sickening crack filled the room as her fist made contact with his jaw.

Gavin went down, collapsing on the floor with a loud groan, his hand on his cheek.. It took a moment for him to regain his composure, and Connor couldn't read the expression on his face as he slowly began laughing in a dark, wicked way. "Of all the fucking people….Wouldn't have expected that from you, Martin."

_"Leave,"_ Barbara's voice was a low snarl, so deep it was almost unrecognizable, her head was tilted downward as she glowered at him, a Kubrickian stare. "Now."

"What are you going to do if I don't?" Gavin slowly rose to his feet. "Kill me? Because you'd rather defend the plastic prick? What do you think Fowler is going to say when he finds out what you just did to your _coworker_?"

Connor could leave. Barbara had Reed distracted enough to let him get out of here. But Gavin had a feral look in his eyes, a violent, dangerous inclination to do something awful. If it wasn't him, it would be Barbara. It seemed wrong to run away.

Connor lunged into action without a second thought, stepped forward and delivered the blow that knocked Gavin unconscious, falling to the ground with a dull thud. Connor gave him a quick scan, he'd be fine in a few minutes.

"We have to stop meeting like this," Barbara said dryly after a beat, her eyes meeting his once she was no longer focused on Gavin. She shook her hand out, flexing her fingers.

"Are you hurt?" Connor asked.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, albeit a little forced, and she shook her head. "I'm okay, Connor."

Voices and footsteps were on the staircase headed towards them. Barbara's eyes narrowed as she looked down the hallway. "Perkins," Barbara murmured under his breath. "Let's go."

Connor didn't need to be told twice, and Barbara guided him through a back exit for the archive room. She walked with purpose, quickly, her head held high, eyes scanning the hallways in front of them, looking over her shoulder occasionally.

"We don't have a ton of time," she said, guiding him to the end of the hallway towards the stairs. "I figure the best I can do is get you a change of clothes if you want to make it out of here undetected."

He followed her into a vacant stairwell, and up several flights, finally pushing open the door to another empty hallway lined with storage closets. They were quiet, the sound of their feet shuffling along the tiled floor the only noise they made. Moving quickly, but not so fast as to rouse any suspicion. Barbara paused in front of one of the doors, warily eyeing both ends of the hallway before swiping herself in with the keycard and gesturing for him to follow.

Barbara clicked on the lights, and Connor took a look around, straightening his tie once his hands were freed. It was less of a storage area that surrounded him, and more of a closet, small and cramped. But there were several racks of clothing for both men and women.

"We should find you something a bit more...pedestrian," she said, her hands on her hips as she walked past him, scanning the contents of the closet. She pulled a gray sweater and black jacket off one of them, placing them over a crooked arm.

"Take off that jacket and put these on," she walked back towards him, unloading the contents of her arms in his. Barbara didn't linger and headed back towards the racks of clothing, ducking out of sight for a moment.

"Do you know your shoe size?" she asked, voice muffled by layers of fabric.

"Eleven," Connor answered quickly, carefully removing his jacket and folding it, placing it down on a metal bench that lined one of the walls. Barbara rose to her feet with a pair of boots in hand, discarding them next to him.

Connor pulled the sweater over his white button down, and Barbara sat on a bench across from him, digging through a cardboard box filled with an assortment of scarves, gloves, and hats, chewing on her lower lip.

"Why'd you leave the investigation?" Connor asked, watching her carefully, pulling on the leather jacket. Barbara hesitated, her resolve wavering for a brief moment before she continued to search the box. She didn't answer at first, and Connor considered that she may have not heard him, until she spoke up.

"I don't think we have time to get into that right now," she said flatly, and pulled a black beanie from it's contents, dangling it from her pinkie and staring fixedly at the ground.

"Then tell me why you're helping me," Connor said. Maybe it wasn't the time to search for answers to his questions, but he wanted some kind of closure with Barbara. He needed to understand what he'd done wrong.

She looked up at him, surprised at the firmer tone of voice he'd used. "I don't know, Connor. Why'd you choose not to shoot those Traci's? Why didn't you shoot Chloe at Kamski's house?"

When he didn't respond, she continued, her head falling back against the wall, staring into space. "I can tell you, if you did, we wouldn't be here right now," she looked up at Connor. "Has it ever dawned on you that we're not doing what's right?"

Connor didn't want to process her words. She felt the same as Hank.

"Barbara, the emotions these androids are 'feeling' aren't real," he drove the point home again, running a hand through his hair, pushing a wily lock from his eyes. But his words were forced. It dawned on him that he was only trying to convince _himself_ that what he was saying was true. Her mind was made up.

"It can't be as simple as some virus in their programming," she argued. "And if it is, does it matter? If it _feels_ real, to them, then why does it matter?"

Connor didn't know how to respond. There were no logical answers to her questions, maybe there were, but it seemed unlikely that anything he said could convince her otherwise. Instead, he knelt to put on the boots she'd given him, and he could tell her eyes didn't leave him the whole time.

"You don't understand what could happen to you if deviancy continues to spread. There's an uprising that's going to occur, and it must be stopped," Connor stated clearly, lacing the shoes up. "That's what CyberLife has created me for."

When Connor straightened, he was startled to find Barbara's face only inches from his. She'd rose from the bench to stand in front of him. In any other case, he would have detected the movement. But for some reason all his defense mechanisms had seemed to go dormant.

Barbara lifted her chin to look into his eyes. Hers were narrowed, filled with the same skepticism that he'd seen her look upon others with several times since he knew her. She was so close, and could smell her perfume, some soft citrus scent that he was able to distinguish down the exact brand, but for some reason felt like he was processing for the first time. Connor was torn between his own uncertainty, and another realization that only served to confuse him further.

Connor met her inquisitive stare.

The intensity of her gaze wasn't something that he expected. It felt as though she could see every instability in his code, and he couldn't hide. It wasn't possible, he reminded himself, but Connor still turned his head, hoping to find something else that could serve as a distraction.

"You really think solving this case is the only way to save yourself, huh?" she tilted her head and crossed her arms.

Connor didn't answer. Just moments ago she had helped him escape Detective Reed, and now she was standing here locking him in some own cage with her words, but seemed oblivious to the damage she was doing.

"You know," she lowered her voice. "There's a real enemy here, Connor. And it's not who you've been programmed to think it is."

Connor felt his chest rise and fall with an unnecessary breath. Maybe this was some type of test. Was she meant to do this from the beginning? Allow him to grow comfortable, so she could pick away at his insecurities. It had to be the only explanation. Why else had it become so easy to trust her?

And in the next moment, that thought seemed severely misguided. Barbara lifted her hands, she stood on her toes to pull a black beanie over his head. Her hands warm and soft; careful. Her fingertips brushed lightly over his forehead as she tucked a stray piece of his hair under the hat, which disguised his LED.

"Who's side are you on, then?" Connor asked. He didn't know what to make of anything she was doing. Her words were contradicting her actions. If she believed that the deviants were in the right, then why had she gone to all this trouble just to help him?

Barbara's brows knit together in concern as she regarded him, but she stepped away from him, her expression softening. "Yours, I guess." she murmured.

Connor could very well fail, or be replaced, or be killed after he left this room. He had no way to analyze whether or not he'd be successful, there were too many possible outcomes. And as much as Barbara and Hank had both puzzled him, he couldn't imagine working with anyone else as his partners.

"Anyways," she said. "You'd better get going."

Connor nodded in agreement. Whereas he normally would use some passing phrase humans often said to each other like 'see you around', he didn't want to make any promises he couldn't keep. So he settled on goodbye, and she nodded at him as he opened the door to the hallway.

"Take care of yourself," she said, and he took one last glance at her, a sad smile playing around the edges of her lips. Connor returned the grin, and shut the door behind him, and stared at the long hallway leading forward, the rest of his mission ahead. He hesitated before taking the first step.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, things are really getting going. Perhaps there are some feelings involved as well? I guess we'll have to see...
> 
> As always, I appreciate every bit of feedback I get, so don't hesitate to let me know what you think. :)


	14. 14 | Limbo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I was listening to Pink Floyd's 'Wish You Were Here' while writing this, so if you'd like to take a listen while you read this chapter, please do!

**CHAPTER 14 | LIMBO**

**NOVEMBER 10, 2038**

**11:48 PM**

Barbara woke with a start, jolted out of slumber she didn't realize she'd fallen into. There was an ache in her lower back, and as she took in her surroundings, she realized she'd fallen asleep on her living room couch, face down. It was dark out, she could see snow fluttering down outside her window on the eerily quiet street.

 _How long was I asleep?_ There was an array of vinyl scattered around her on the floor, her record player had automatically turned itself off. The clock in the breakfast nook of the kitchen read 11:49 p.m. Groaning, she rolled over and stretched, arching her back to release the tension from falling asleep on the lumpy old sofa.

The sleepless nights must have caught up to her, she'd spent the last few days tossing and turning in a desperate attempt to escape from her own howling psyche, only to give up and turn cooking or listening to old records. Her body finally took over. If she wasn't going to allow herself to sleep, it would find a way.

Despite the nap, she wasn't feeling any more well-rested than before, still a bit groggy. But for a few moments of bliss, she enjoyed an uncommon silence before her brain caught up and began spinning with worry again.

After yesterday, and what she was fairly certain had been her last exchange with Connor, she'd taken the day off, lied about a stomach bug and kept the conversation with Fowler short. He'd seemed fine with it, considering he'd yet to assign her to a new case, and she was half-expecting some kind of punishment for what she'd done to Gavin. It seemed out of character for him to _not_ tell Fowler everything that happened. She may have committed some pretty serious treason, depending on how things played out. With everything going on in the city, perhaps there hadn't been time for Gavin to throw her under the bus, yet.

Barbara cursed under her breath at the current state of her own affairs, and the affairs of the city and country she called home, before switching on her TV again.

Most of the day she'd tried keeping her mind off things by cooking a unreasonably time-consuming lunch/dinner. Spaghetti aglio e olio, making the noodles from scratch. She pretty much destroyed her kitchen in the process and killed an hour by slicing cloves of garlic with an X-Acto knife she found in a junk drawer. She thought she might test Paulie's method from Goodfellas and see how thin she could slice the pieces. It made for a good distraction.

By the time she'd plated the dish in a large bowl and sat at her kitchen table alone, she could only stomach one bite before pushing it away, crossing her arms and looking outside at the empty street below. Eating felt like too much of a chore at the moment, and somewhere between kneading the pasta dough and garnishing the dish with chopped parsley, she'd lost her appetite.

The city was crumbling down around her, not _quite_ literally, but it might as well have been. Since the last time she'd spoken to Connor, Jericho had been attacked by the humans. The FBI had found it's location, which meant Connor had been successful in his mission, all thanks to her. She couldn't believe she'd been manipulated to believe that he was changing. Barbara had blindly defended him, it had worked so well. She thought she may have gotten through to him the day before. It was foolish to think she could have really influenced him to make a difference.

And strangely, she was heartbroken. She genuinely had begun to _like_ him, despite all her initial reservations. He'd snuck up on her so quickly, faster than any other coworker ever had, with those inquisitive brown eyes, freckles, and stupid coin tricks, so charming yet quirky, and she'd just _let_ him. It was embarrassing, she thought.

Despite what appeared to be a harsh exterior, Barbara kept finding herself in this situation, all throughout her life, putting her trust in those who would only shatter it. She wanted to cry, but that felt too self-serving.

It was eating her away inside, not just the manipulation, the feeling of betrayal, but the thought that she was responsible for the destruction of Jericho, and the loss of lives that had occurred.

She'd turned the news on and off several times, as if trying to decide what was the better option between the bliss of ignorance and the full understanding of the damage she'd inadvertently caused. Being closed off had always served her well, but she never thought being vulnerable with someone would cause this kind of catastrophe.

A curfew had been put into place, but it was hardly necessary as humans and androids around the city were terrified for their lives and holed themselves up inside anyway. There'd been a smattering of cars that she'd heard come down her street today, but other than that, the roads were vacant.

Her phone vibrating jolted her once more from her reverie, and while she had to dig between the cushions of the couch, she was slightly relieved for the distraction, especially when she saw Hank's name on her caller ID. It was late, and he wasn't one to use his phone for a simple chat, so she assumed it was important.

"Hey Hank," she answered.

"Barbara," he said, and she immediately regretted answering, he sounded pissed. "Where the _hell_ were you today? And don't say sick, I know you lied to Fowler."

"You know nothing," she quipped, keeping her voice flat. Despite his current frustration with her, she found some comfort in the sound of his voice.

"I don't have time for your cryptic bullshit right now," he said. "I gotta talk to you."

"Okay," she answered. "What's going on?"

"I can't talk to you over the phone," he said. "I think I might be a person of interest or some shit. You've got to come to my place." There was a twinge of paranoia, anxiousness to his usually level tone.

"What do you mean, person of interest?" Barbara asked, biting her lower lip in concern.

"Just get the fuck to my house, and I'll explain everything," He bit quickly.

"How am I supposed to do that, Hank?" she asked. "There's a curfew, and it's the middle of the night."

"And you're a detective for the DPD, I'm sure you can figure out a way."

Barbara sighed, closing her eyes, but it didn't take long to make the decision. The way she saw it, she had no other choice. "Okay, I'll be there in twenty."

Hank didn't even say goodbye, she just heard the opposite line go dead.

Springing into action with renewed energy she didn't know she had, Barbara scrambled to pull on the necessary boots, coat, and hat, and turned off her record player before she left her apartment.

* * *

When the taxi pulled up to Hank's place, Barbara searched his house for any signs of forced entry, since he'd sounded a little distressed over the phone. He'd taped a piece of cardboard over where she and Connor had broken his kitchen window, and she wished she could laugh at the memory, but the sight of it only made her more dejected.

"Is this the correct residence, Detective Martin?" the automated voice of the self-driving vehicle asked for confirmation.

"Yes, thank you," she said, and the door slid open.

"Thank you for driving with Detroit taxis."

Barbara rarely used her badge for special treatment, she always felt like it was egotistical, but she had to make an exception tonight, as transportation had been limited and she wasn't exactly in a state to drive herself. The curfew would've blocked an average citizen from leaving their home, but scanning her DPD ID had done the trick.

Hank opened the door before she could knock, and paused for a brief second to regard his partner. She looked awfully disheveled and rundown, but she was here in one piece.

"Jesus Christ, what happened to you?" Hank grunted, inhaling through his nose.

"I feel like shit," she answered. Normally she'd brush past him and into his foyer or ignore his comment, but she didn't feel like putting up a facade for him right now. She'd done enough deceiving the last few days, and it was catching up to her.

His shoulders relaxed and he looked behind her, scanning the yard for anything unusual, like was trying to see if someone was watching them, and reluctantly stepped backwards to allow her to enter. "Join the club."

Sumo barked at the intruder, until he recognized who she was, then hurried forward to wriggle around her feet as she took off her coat. Even though it'd only been a day or so since she saw Hank, she felt an overwhelming impulse to hug him. The familiarity of his presence after feeling so lonely and desolate all day was a comfort, although short-lived.

"What's going on?" she asked, and Hank gestured for her to sit down on the couch in his living room.

"I just got back from fucking _CyberLife_ ," Hank said, taking a seat in the recliner across from her, and she leaned forward. "Connor, he-"

"What?" Barbara asked, cutting him off, and he held his hand up in response. Her head started spinning.

"He, well, I _thought_ it was him, showed up at the office today and took me there, said it was the part of the mission," Hank explained. "It looked like Connor, but it wasn't Connor. Probably some backup model they had on hand in case something happened to him during our investigation."

"The minute we got to CyberLife it pulled a gun on me," Hank continued. "And it took me to the real Connor. I don't know what happened between yesterday and now, I don't know exactly what he was doing, but it seemed like he was a part of the revolution. Was trying to build an army or something."

Barbara worried her lip between her teeth for a moment before speaking. She had several questions for him but she didn't even know where to begin. "So...Connor is alive?" Barbara asked, an overwhelming flood of hope washing over her, temporarily quelling her worries until Hank answered.

Hank nodded. "I had to shoot...whatever it was. But yeah, he's still alive. If he was successful, he's probably marching an army of androids downtown to where Markus is as we speak. I didn't want to get in his way."

 _"Holy shit,"_ she said. This was enough information...for now.

But her head was spinning. _Connor was a deviant._ She was overwhelmed by her emotions in the moment, but the one that stood out the most to her was relief. There were other factors at play she could consider, like how much danger he was in now, if he was really doing what Hank said, but that didn't matter. _He was alive._

"Any interest in a drink?" Hank asked. "After all this shit, I absolutely need one."

Barbara snorted, slightly amused, a reprieve from all her angst. Hank seemed awfully shaken up by what had happened, and a mixture of exhaustion and concern filtering through her body partly had her wanting to burst into hysterics. The invitation was tempting, and she nodded.

A few moments later she was sat at the wooden table in Hank's kitchen, nursing a shot of bourbon. It was cheap, dry, and burned as it went down. Hank chuckled at the faces she was making.

"Sorry, I don't do this often," she narrowed her eyes at him, casting over a knowing glance.

Hank rolled his eyes. "We're not getting into that right now," he said.

"I don't want to," she said, her face warm from the whiskey. "I think things between us have been turbulent enough the last few weeks, I don't want to make it any worse."

"Jesus," Hank muttered. "Neither do I."

Barbara grew somber than, this was one of the first moments she'd had alone with Hank in God-only-knew how long, and she owed him about a thousand apologies.

"I should've told you that I was going to leave the case, Hank," she said. "I don't know why I didn't, I guess I just thought it'd be better if you didn't know."

Hank pondered her confession for a moment, nursing another sip of whiskey. "You've still got to answer that question," Hank said. "Why'd you leave?"

Barbara was still hesitant to be honest. She didn't want him to think she was getting all sappy. But she'd try her best. "I felt like the bad guy," she said. "I felt like I was letting Connor dig his own grave."

Maybe it was the bourbon getting to her, but she was starting to feel a little existential. "I don't know what's wrong with me, Hank. I've pushed you away, I pushed Connor away, and now I don't know if I'm ever going to see him again. Every person who's been trying to help me I've treated like shit. I don't even know how to apologize for it."

Barbara pushed the half-empty glass of whiskey away from her and hunched forward,her elbows on her knees, a little embarrassed for her word vomit, but equally as ashamed by her recent behavior.

"Oh come on kid, you're only human," Hank said. "We've all fucked up, how do you think I feel for being such a dick to Connor this whole time? Hell, he saved _my_ life several times during the investigation and I still treated him like shit."

Barbara sighed, closing her eyes, and she felt Hank's hand on her back. "We make quite a lousy team, don't we?"

"Always have," Hank chuckled as she straightened up, and he slid her glass across the table back towards herself. "I think that's enough liquor for you tonight."

Barbara turned her head to face him and rolled her eyes. "Okay, Dad."

Barbara excused herself to use the restroom while Hank turned on the TV and sat in his recliner. She wasn't sure how long he'd be okay with her staying here, but she was just glad she wasn't alone. As she washed her hands, she caught a brief glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, for the first time in what felt like days, she finally regarded the rings beneath her eyes and sunken cheeks. She looked like hell, but she supposed it didn't matter much.

"Holy shit!" she head Hank's call echo down his hallway. "Barbara, get out here!"

Panicked, Barbara nearly sprinted down the hallway, worried something horrible had happened, only to find him standing in front of the TV, turning up the volume on the news broadcast. When her eyes finally recognized what was on the screen in front of her, she echoed Hank's sentiments from a moment ago.

 _"Holy shit,"_ she said. Displayed in high-definition on the TV in front of her was Connor, back in his CyberLife uniform, leading an army of androids in perfect sync, walking downtown towards where Markus was staging his peaceful protest.

_"At dawn today, November 11, 2038, thousands of androids invaded the city of Detroit. According to our sources, they originated from CyberLife warehouses believed to have been infiltrated by deviants."_

She recognized the voice of President Warren being played over the footage, she was giving a statement to the press.

_Given their overwhelming numbers and risk of civilian casualties, I have ordered the Army to retreat. The evacuation of the city is underway at this very moment._

The sight of Connor, standing alongside Markus and the other leaders of Jericho sent a chill down her spine, but she wasn't afraid. She felt...recharged...reinvigorated. She was proud of him.

The scene cut back to President Warren, who stood at a podium addressing the press, her face illuminated by camera flashes as she continued her speech.

_In the coming hours, I will address The Senate to determine our response to this unprecedented situation. I know that public opinion has been moved by the deviant's cause..._

_Perhaps the time has come for us to consider the possibility that androids are a new form of intelligent life. One thing is certain: The events in Detroit have changed the world forever. May God bless you, and May God bless the United States of America._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why but I hate this chapter. As much as I edited it, I felt like it never got to where I wanted it to be, but I felt like it had to happen. Oh well. We'll finally be moving to post-game events after this, so there are much more exciting things to come!
> 
> I have a break from work and thought it would give me more time to write, but instead I've just been sleeping and trying to physically and mentally recharge. I will try to continue to post chapters, but will probably keep to the schedule of uploading every 1-2 weeks. Hopefully that works for ya'll! As always, let me know what you think.  
> [Fic Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLvB0pQ_9KkzKIWFSUZ42ZOK7dSM68UcIg) || My [tumblr](https://from-the-clouds.tumblr.com)


	15. 15 | After

**CHAPTER 15 | AFTER**

**NOVEMBER 15, 2038**

**5:35 PM**

Connor stepped into the small park, his footsteps muffled by the snow that covered the ground. It was vacant, but peaceful; what Amanda's zen garden had always attempted to replicate but fell short of.

_Amanda._

He dismissed the negative memories associated with the thought of her, something he'd been doing for the past few days. While he was still coming to terms with what emotions were, and all the things he was capable of feeling, he at least knew that thinking of Amanda made him _upset_. Angry, irritated, uneasy...he hadn't settled on the best way to describe it yet. He'd considered removing the recollections from his databanks, but knew that they were far too important to delete.

The streets of Detroit were quiet, the majority of citizens had been evacuated, save for essential government employees, some medical professionals, and law enforcement officers. Crime rates had spiked in a few short days, and some semblance of order still had to be kept in the wake of the android revolution. Androids had taken over the CyberLife tower, as well as the long-abandoned industrial areas near the outskirts of town. He supposed it was now considered the new Jericho, though they no longer had any reason to hide.

Connor however, had been staying with Hank. As a law enforcement officer, he was one of the few humans who'd been authorized to remain in the city. As Connor came to terms with his deviancy, he found the presence of the grouchy Lieutenant strangely comforting. After everything, he still wasn't quite sure where he stood.

Connor had no idea how long the process would be to determine how, or even _if_ androids would be regarded as citizens and afforded the same rights as humans. In fact, the US government had been so concerned with evacuating the city that it almost seemed the question of android equality still sat on the back burner. It led him to conclude that everything that had occurred mere days ago was just the beginning of a much longer journey.

Beyond that was the process of understanding himself. Considering everything else going on, it felt selfish to work through. He'd tried to fight against it, but it couldn't be avoided. He was no longer chalking up every unusual reaction he experienced as some sort of virus or instability. Hank had once told him that emotions only complicated things, and Connor understood much better now what he'd meant.

Although the city remained all but empty, bordering on dangerous, he wasn't surprised to see a silhouette as he walked through the park, sitting on a bench, legs crossed, and still. Connor didn't want to cause a start.

"It's not very safe to be out here all alone, Detective," he called.

The figured turned it's head to look at him.

"Connor," Barbara said, rising to her feet as he closed the distance between them, pausing within a meter in front of her. He could see from her expression the surprise at his appearance, eyes wide, jaw slack. Surprise...and something else that he couldn't place. And it seemed as if she was trying to figure out what to say for a moment, but then abandoned the usage of words entirely to step forward and wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. "You're okay," she murmured into his ear.

After a moment of processing, Connor returned the embrace, soothed by the gesture. Barbara was warm, in temperature and temperament, her cheek pressed against the exposed, artificial skin on his neck. It was easy to see why humans were so inclined to displays of affection...it was quite pleasant. Barbara pulled away after several moments, her eyes flickering over him as though she were taking inventory. He let her survey him, and when she seemed satisfied, her eyes met his again, and she smiled.

"You're okay," she repeated. It was the first time Connor had _really_ seen her smile, one that wasn't forced or lined with sadness, her eyes squinted and a single dimple appeared on her right cheek. "How the hell did you find me here?" she asked.

"Hank," Connor said sheepishly. After knocking on her apartment door several times and hearing no sign of activity inside, he thought he'd search the block around her building. Briefly, he had considered the possibility of her being in danger, and the emotion associated with the thought of her in trouble was unpleasant at best. He didn't have to worry for long, as he'd spotted her almost immediately. "He said it might be a good idea to come see you, after everything."

All the things Barbara had said to him in the storage closet the last time they'd seen each other had ended up being true. Of course, he had been too focused on his mission, his blind allegiance to CyberLife had been foolish. Standing next to her once again sent his systems into another flurry of activity, but this time he was more at ease. Her presence was a solace, familiar.

He wondered, briefly, if she'd known that he would become a deviant when she sent him off to Jericho. All her words had been trying to convince him of _something_ , but he hadn't comprehended them until after. Did she believe in him then?

"I'm glad you did," she said. "You can sit, if you want."

He did, next to her on the bench. She had to be freezing in this weather, Connor thought, but the only indication of that was her flushed cheeks and red nose.

"Hank tells me you got in a lot of trouble at work because of me," he began.

Barbara grew serious, and bit on her lower lip. "Yeah," she said. "I got a one-month unpaid suspension. Which is pretty mild, considering that I _assaulted_ a fellow employee. Guess Fowler's desperate to have me back on the force with everything going on."

"I'm sorry. It's my fault-" Connor began, but she shook her head.

"I'd do it again in a heartbeat," she turned to look at him.

Connor considered this, as he couldn't discern her compulsion to help him in the first place. "I still don't understand why both you went to all that trouble," he mused. "For me." For a moment, he regretted that he'd spoken the thought aloud.

Barbara's brows pulled together, the statement seemed to have upset her. "Don't say that," she leaned closer to him, turning her body to look at him more closely. Hesitantly, he met her eyes. "You know, I care about you, Hank cares about you…." trailing off, Barbara shook her head and pulled back from him slightly.

"You have no idea how worried I was about you after you left the DPD," Barbara turned her head away. "Really, I thought I'd done something horrible. I thought you'd misinterpreted everything I was trying to say. I don't know why it took me so long to figure out what CyberLife was doing, I wish I could've gotten to you sooner."

Reaching out, Barbara's hand traced over his gently, quickly squeezing it before returning her own to her coat pocket. It was soft, tender, and Connor barely had time to process it along with everything she'd just said.

Connor had been manipulated into doing the worst things to his own people. He couldn't use CyberLife or Amanda as an excuse. He'd been aware, all along, exactly what he was doing, before he was awake. And it had taken _Markus_ to help him understand that. Everyone else was aware, except him. He'd been so foolish, so naive.

But right now he'd keep it to himself. With time, it would be better, he'd concluded. If he waited for the voices in his head to crescendo, maybe they'd fade out to a quiet murmur. He pushed away the unpleasant conflict within him. That wasn't why he was here.

"I assume you'll be evacuating during your suspension, then?" he asked, changing the subject.

Barbara shook her head. "No, I don't have anywhere to go," she tilted her head to the side, and her response made him a bit somber. "And if I'm going to be tearing my hair out in boredom, I'd rather be at home doing it."

Connor smiled, leaning back against the bench, and she crossed her legs, poking him in the calf with her boot. "So, what about you, Connor? What's life like as a free man?"

Connor kept his answer vague. "I'm not sure I'm entirely free yet," he said. "There's still a lot I don't understand."

Barbara nodded, seemed to consider his words before she answered him. "You know you can always come to me...or even Hank, if you need advice."

"Should I be taking advice from you two?" Connor chuckled, hoping the injection of humor would appease her concerns, and Barbara shot him an ornery glare from the corner of her eyes.

"Hm," she elbowed him in his side lightly. "Very funny, smartass. With the city being evacuated, I don't think you have much of a choice."

He laughed, but didn't answer her right away, pulling the coin from his pocket and passing it through his fingers absentmindedly. What he used to use as a way to process information had now become more of a means of entertainment, a way to think and manage whatever flurry of activity was running through him.

"So, what happens for you now, then?" she asked, turning to look at him.

He was struck by a realization as he watched her, the sight of her flushed cheeks, wisps of hair blowing in and out of her eyes and intensity of her gaze, that she was beautiful. This had been an observation from his programming the day he first met her, but he was curious as to why his systems were reiterating it...until he recognized that the judgement was coming from somewhere else...somewhere outside the lines of code that had always told him wrong from right. It was his _own_ conclusion, he decided.

"I haven't been in touch with Markus for several days," said Connor. "But I'd assume he'll want to start a dialogue with lawmakers as soon as possible. So, we're just waiting."

Markus, no doubt, had his hands full, but Connor had stepped away. It wasn't because he didn't want to be involved, but he was conflicted. It felt wrong that he should have any type of involvement in the plan for Jericho's equality, because he'd done so much to hurt them in the weeks leading up to it. What he had done during the uprising didn't feel like enough.

Barbara nodded. "Well, I hope things are ironed out sooner rather than later." When he turned to face her, she was staring at him, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. There was a sincerity in her eyes that stilled the turmoil inside of him, but she turned her head away and it was gone.

Connor echoed the sentiment. A bout of silence passed between them, but he didn't feel the need to fill the space with any more conversation.

When the sun went down and the air grew even cooler, Barbara excused herself to go inside. She pulled the hood of her coat over her head as the wind began to pick up, jogging towards her apartment building across the street. Connor began the trip home. While he'd given her the closure Hank had urged him to, he hoped it wasn't the last time he'd see her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Short chapter, don't love it, but I had to wrap up a few loose ends. Hope ya'll are excited for what's coming next!


	16. 16 | Strife

**CHAPTER 16 | STRIFE**

**NOVEMBER 25, 2038**

**7:13PM**

Without a free hand to knock on Hank's front door, Barbara kicked it as gently as she could, but still hard enough to resemble a knock. The rubber sole of her boot left a black streak at the bottom of Hank's door, and she hoped he wouldn't notice.

Thanksgiving at Hank's had become a sort of tradition between the two of them after Cole passed away. Barbara had limited contact with her parents and had usually spent the holidays alone, watching old movies. She couldn't remember who had invited who for the first time, though she had a feeling it was probably herself in a rare moment of weakness.

Even if one of them was working, they'd find a way to spend the holiday together, even if it was as disgusting as canned cranberry sauce and a microwaved green beans at the office. The home cook in her shuddered at that particular memory. This year, she was somewhat thankful to suspended from work so she could prep the proper dishes, which she split up amongst Hank and herself, even though she had limited access to food because of the evacuation, but she made do.

Barbara's foot-only knock did the trick because the door opened within minutes, and Connor stood in front of her. He wore a red sweater and jeans, and for a split second she didn't recognize him without his telltale jacket, tie, and glowing armband. He looked handsome, as always, but the sight of him in regular clothes made him even _more_ so. She never disliked the jacket, of course, but he seemed so much more _himself_...this way.

Especially when he met her with a smile, helping her sit down the box full of food in her arms, and pulled her into a cordial hug. Even in the short embrace she was comforted by how real he felt. "How are you?" he asked, just as Hank came around the corner from his kitchen, looking a little frazzled.

Sumo came trotting down the hall as well, and they all exchanged a moment to greet one another, all cheery, like something straight out of a holiday commercial, the snow falling down outside as a family came together for the first time since last year. Only they made the most dysfunctional family - if you could even call it that - that she'd ever seen.

"Hey kid, how you doing?" Hank asked.

"Great," Barbara said confidently, though it wasn't entirely the truth. Her suspension had been more of a punishment than she'd expected. Between the empty city and the harsh weather, her apartment had begun to feel like a prison. She was reaping the consequences of her own actions, but she still didn't feel any remorse. Hell, one of the things Fowler had required her to do was write an apology to Gavin Reed. A quick peruse of templates on Google had done the trick, she couldn't be bothered to do anything besides fill in empty spaces and send it in an email. She wasn't one to waste her own words on something so futile.

In her mind, she'd done the right thing. And Connor was standing safely in front of her, which was ultimately all she cared about.

An abandoned Detroit was disturbing to witness. It was eerie. Grim. She'd lived in the city her whole life. She had a love-hate relationship with it, but could at least admit it never bored her. It had always been the joke of America - an impoverished and run-down town filled with crime, drugs, and a struggling economy. But she always felt like outsiders had no place to criticize. And when CyberLife had chosen to place their headquarters in the city, for a short time, things had been looking up. That was before anyone understood what exactly they were doing.

After a few minutes of pleasantries and Barbara placing her food in the oven to stay warm, Hank tasked her and Connor with setting the table, which he'd moved into his living room so they would have more space. The TV was on, they were playing a rerun of the Macy's Day Parade. Barbara found it funny that in other cities life still went on as if nothing had happened...whereas in Detroit, it seemed as though time had stopped.

"It's nice of you to help Hank out with all this...considering that you don't even get to enjoy any of the food..." Barbara said to Connor, who had paused while folding a napkin and was staring at the television. He didn't appear to be focused on the program, however, it was almost as if he was looking past it...buried deep within his own psyche. Connor wasn't one to get distracted.

She hadn't seen Hank since her last day at work, and hadn't seen Connor since the day in the park. She'd suspected processing what he'd been through was taking a lot out of him, more than he was letting on. In the few phone calls she'd had with Hank, he said he'd been awfully withdrawn. Barbara _wanted_ to talk to him, though she wasn't sure that any advice she could offer would be of any use. He was much more advanced than she was, in many ways. Words of wisdom from someone as lost as herself were unlikely to be valuable, and she was only human.

At the sound of her voice, he turned his head to look at her. His LED spun in a gold disk briefly before he nodded. "I don't mind...it's the least I could do since Hank's letting me stay with him."

Barbara nodded she looked around Hank's living area. It was uncannily tidier than the last time she'd been over, she suspected that was not his doing. "It looks like you've cleaned the place up quite a bit."

Connor shrugged. "I don't have much to do right now, and it was a mess. He's gone at work all day, so I thought I'd make myself useful. The amount of dust he'd allowed to collect on his bookshelves was lowering the air quality significantly. Hank did not seem to share my concern for his state of living."

Barbara felt her mouth tug up in a smirk at his matter-of-fact delivery. Even if it wasn't his intention, the moments when he sounded miffed reminded her of a disappointed parent. She'd been on the receiving end of this irritation several times, but found it a little endearing. Connor turned back from gesturing at Hank's bookshelves, which had been organized neatly in alphabetical order, the limited trinkets he used as decoration had been cleaned and displayed much more neatly than they had before.

"How've you been?" she asked, putting the final napkin in place and pretending she didn't hear something clatter to the floor in the kitchen, followed by a hushed curse from Hank. Connor's eyes flickered behind her briefly, then back to her.

"Fine," Connor said. "Why do you ask?"

She couldn't tell if he was being defensive, or genuinely curious, so she answered as safely as possible. "It's just something you ask your... friends," she said.

"I understand," he said. Barbara sat on the couch and studied him, tucking one leg underneath her. She wasn't quite sure how to talk to him, as it dawned on Barbara she only really knew him from work, and he didn't seem like one for small talk. Neither was she, so it was okay.

He seemed focused on the TV, or maybe lost in thought. She wanted to reach out and push the damn piece of hair that always fell onto his forehead off his face, let her thumb graze lazily across his cheekbone. Barbara halted the thought in its tracks.

Connor was hiding something, but she couldn't put her finger on what. He had every reason to be upset, but she couldn't place exactly what was troubling him. And she hesitated to press about whatever it was. After all, she was only human.

* * *

As the dust settled from the android uprising and the world became silent around him, Connor could hear the noise ricocheting in his mind much louder. It made sense. Of course an artificial mind so advanced would feel things with so much more intensity. It was a curse. And no amount of research seemed to really help, besides in identifying basic emotions. He had so many questions that were spinning constantly through his system, it almost seemed impossible to pluck one and focus on it while the others fluttered around. He stayed quiet. Any understanding he seemed to have on what it meant to be alive almost immediately slipped through his grasp.

Depending on the day, Hank would sleep in, leave for work in the late morning, and wouldn't return until well after dark. After cramming some concoction of food in his mouth for dinner, he'd be off to bed. So, Connor was at least content to spend some extended time with his two old partners, even just for the evening.

As for Barbara, he was in a bit of a predicament. In her absence he had begun to develop an affection for her he didn't quite understand. Not all of the experiences he'd had were pleasant, but she was the steady force that stood alongside him. Of course, he initially dismissed his infatuation as some pleasantry his systems created to distract from his real concerns, but being with her again made him question that conclusion.

There was still so much he wanted to learn about her, only this time, it wasn't so that he could be more successful in his mission...it was just because he wanted to _know_. Barbara was human, tender, warm, and soft. A little evasive, maybe, but he found that endearing somehow. Regardless, she didn't seem to share how gentle she was with everyone. He'd seen the way she'd interacted with other coworkers at the office. A hardened exterior, but always polite - nothing more.

The kindness she'd shown him was unexpected, and something inside him liked that he was one of the select few that got to see it. Even if...he didn't deserve it. Maybe she treated him well because she felt the same as he did - but several analyses told him that was unlikely.

It was easier for him to think about her then it was to think about what was really tearing him apart, the question of his existence and all the horrible, terrible things that he had done.

He joined Hank and Barbara at the table, where Hank was pouring Barbara a glass of white wine. Connor had done a bit of research, and had helped Hank prepare several of the dishes. While focused on cooking, he had a bit of reprieve from his woes and began to understand why so many humans took it up as a hobby.

"How are things down at the precinct?" Barbara asked Hank after they'd began eating.

Hank shrugged. "Mostly dealing with minor stuff, break-ins and vandalism," he said, but paused as if he remembered something. "Although, there was a murder last week. No physical evidence but we think it was a murder gone wrong. And this week, Fowler created a task force for when the government comes in for negotiations."

Barbara paused with a spoonful of sweet potatoes halfway to her mouth, her eyes flickering briefly to Connor. "When will that happen?"

Hank had already relayed this information to him, but judging by Barbara's expression, this was a shock to her. Connor truthfully had felt numb when Hank told him. There wasn't much he could do to control the situation from this distance.

"No idea. Super confidential stuff," Hank began. "Could be months, but if Fowler put it together it means someone reached out. It's all very new."

Barbara raised her eyebrows and took a long pull on her white wine. Connor noticed Hank hadn't poured one for himself. His drinking problems weren't a subject Connor had ever brought up, but since he'd moved in, they seemed to be remedying themselves without too much intervention.

As if he'd heard what Connor was thinking, Hank sighed. "City's so goddamn lonely like this. Feels like a foreign place."

Barbara nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it's too quiet, I'm in my building all alone."

"How's your friend, Alexis?" Hank asked. "Didn't you say she was pregnant?"

"Yeah," Barbara nodded. "She's fine, but she and her husband, Austin evacuated well before the revolution, I think she was staying with her family in Frankenmuth. She was around eight months along, too, so I think she wanted to be in a secure place for the last few weeks."

Barbara looked over at Connor. "Alexis has been my neighbor for the past few years. She and her husband Austin are good friends of mine and they just got married, and now they're having a baby."

Connor nodded as he took in this information, which wasn't particularly useful to him but he supposed it was Barbara's attempting to include him in the conversation. And to be fair, he didn't know much about her life outside of work.

"Damn," Hank murmured. "Can't believe everyone's gone. No idea when I'll have another drink at Jimmy's."

Barbara rolled her eyes playfully. "I'll never understand your obsession with that _dive_."

"Jimmy makes the best drinks in Detroit," Hank said.

" _Makes_ the best drinks in Detroit," Barbara repeated, her eyes narrowing as she stared down Hank. "All he does is pour bottom shelf liquor in a glass and slide it to you over the bar."

Hank chuckled, but didn't back down. "Babs, don't pretend like you haven't spent a happy hour or two there."

Barbara paused and pressed her lips together. "Yeah, when I was broke and in the academy and couldn't afford to go anywhere else," her eyes flickered downwards. Connor was amused by their banter. He wondered if their relationship had always been this way, when it wasn't strained by work conflicts or...himself.

After dinner was over, Hank began to clear the table, and in the process, knocked the cranberry sauce all over the front of his shirt, the glass bowl that had been holding it shattering on the floor.

"Aw shit," he grumbled, trying to clean it up but only making the stain on his shirt worse. Barbara, who had been walking towards his sink with dishes in her hands, turned at the sound of the dish hitting the floor. "I've gotta fucking change out of this. Can you both handle the dishes?"

"Did you do that on purpose to get out of cleaning up?" Barbara asked, snickering over her shoulder from the sink.

"You think I'd ruin a nice shirt to get out of doing dishes?" Hank hissed, though it wasn't laced with any tension as Connor knelt to pick up the large pieces of broken glass that had been strewn all over the floor. He was sure he'd have to sweep it thoroughly to be sure no minuscule shards ended up in anyone's feet.

"Yeah, actually, I do..." she quipped back.

Hank grunted at her. "Do you want to stay for the movie or not? Cause I can kick you out."

"I'm kidding!" Barbara said, chiding him. "I think we can handle it."

After discarding the majority of the glass and wiping up the mess Hank had made, Connor stepped next to Barbara at the sink, who was nearly done with all the dishes. He heard Hank's bathroom sink running, and picked up a towel to help her dry the dishes.

Carefully, he studied her profile, her lip drawn between her teeth, deep in thought. There was silence between them, and every word or phrase he attempted seemed to get stuck halfway before leaving his mouth, until finally he settled on an easy question.

"How is your time off?" Connor asked her, which was a failed attempt at any interesting conversation, he thought, but he found he couldn't think of anything else that might be engaging.

Barbara shrugged, glanced over at him as she started stacking the dishes in Hank's cabinets. "I took some cold case files from the DPD before I left. I wasn't technically supposed to...but I knew I'd get stir-crazy if I didn't have anything to do."

Pausing, she let the cabinet door shut with a muted thud, turning slightly to face him, seemingly conflicted. Her mouth opened, but instead of speaking she took a deep breath, and then her eyes darted away. "I'll be honest...this whole suspension, paired with the city being evacuated is...I feel _lonely_. I haven't been able to sleep at night," she tried to punctuate the phrase with a snort and a grin, as if to brush off the sincerity of what she'd just said. But Connor knew now what a real smile from her looked like, and this was pained.

That was an unexpected revelation, and perhaps the most open Barbara had ever been without him having to prompt it out of her. It boosted his mood slightly, that she felt inclined to share this with him, but the idea of her being lonely didn't make him feel good. And then came the dilemma of how to respond. "I'm sorry," was all he could manage, and then scolded himself for not thinking through his answer more thoroughly.

"It's fine, Connor," she said, then snorted. "That was kind of pathetic for me to say, anyways." she tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear.

"No, it wasn't," he glanced towards her briefly as her eyes fluttered downward, ashamed.

His systems debated on his next words, hopefully more reassuring, as his line of sight followed hers, absentmindedly, down to her bare feet, just as she took a step forward to move into Hank's living room.

"Wait-" he held out an arm to stop her, unable to stop the panic from seeping in his voice as he registered the situation she was about to walk into.

"What?" she asked, eyes widening.

"I haven't had the chance to sweep the floor yet, and it'd be rather unfortunate if you sustained lacerations trying to walk through the kitchen," he began. "There are still microscopic pieces of glass that have yet to be discarded."

Barbara stared at him blankly for a moment, then sighed. "I appreciate that, but I think I'll be okay."

As she tried to step forward again, Connor stepped in front of her and blocked her path. "Barbara," he warned. "I'm trying to protect you," he said.

She let out a groan of frustration. "Connor, don't be so stubborn. It'll be a scratch at worst," she argued.

"Even a scratch can introduce bacteria," he informed her, and she stared at him with one eyebrow raised. "And once infection sets in, there are a number of outcomes ranging from-"

"Okay weirdo," she cut him off, deadpanned, looking up and stepping closer to him. The insult would have left him dejected, if it weren't for the hint of humor he detected in her voice. "I don't need the analytics. If you're going to be this difficult, couldn't you just carry me out to the living room?"

Connor smirked slightly, feeling some of the tension leave. "If that's okay with you."

"It doesn't seem like I have much of a choice, does it?" she quipped, and carefully Connor knelt to collect her in his arms.

It was effortless, which was to be expected, but what Connor wasn't expecting the bit of ardor he felt with her so close. Her arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders, Barbara giggled, which was a foreign sound from her, sweet and airy, delicate. If it were possible, his knees would have gone weak with the sound of it. "Wow, you're so strong," she observed, a hint of sarcasm in her voice, and Connor avoided her eyes, which remained fixated on him as he walked carefully to Hank's living room. Her gaze made his face feel warm, which was an unfamiliar sensation.

"It's nice to see you smiling again," she remarked to him as he set her down, she clung to his shoulders as she found her footing and then stepped away. The loss of contact was disappointing to Connor, as was her remark, and her eyes, so attentive and all-seeing, scanned him again.

When he didn't respond, she stepped closer to him. He heard Hank cross the hallway and slam the door to his bedroom shut, most likely to change. "Are you okay, Connor?" she asked him, her hand rising to place on his arm gently. Connor didn't think he could answer that question...not concisely.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he asked quickly, but his tone sounded slightly defensive.

"You seem... _off_ ," she stated, matter-of factly.

And her proximity again sent a flurry of activity through him. Her eyes were pining to connect with his, and he obliged, tilting his chin down to look at her. He had been searching his systems for an acceptable answer but couldn't find one, and Barbara, being so _damn_ observant had sensed his hesitation. He could lie, he was capable of lying, all he needed to do was say that he was fine, and that could end it all. But for some reason, he'd been locked out of his negotiating procedures and he couldn't speak. He couldn't lie, not to _her_.

"If you don't want to talk about it, I understand," she stepped closer to him, unconsciously his eyes cast downwards towards her lips but he snapped them back quickly. They were full, parted slightly. "I want you to know that you can talk to me...if you need to."

Barbara wasn't one to break eye contact, which was making this even more difficult for him. He was processing her words and it was only making him more conflicted.

Whatever had him attracted to her in the first place had taken over, or maybe it was just _him_. He had to remind himself that. Sometimes, _he_ was responsible. In theory, the idea of Barbara was light and innocent, a pleasant distraction. With her so close, however, it was a _reality._ His body was reacting ways he'd never experienced or even expected, his thirium pump had increased its flow to compensate for the thousand calculations it felt as though he was doing, to cool his overheating systems.

Her thumb moved carefully on his forearm, only further drawing him in. And for some reason he felt he could see some of his own endearment reflected back to him, in her own eyes. Maybe it was a bad idea to pursue this through all his inner turmoil but for some reason, he couldn't quell the impulse inside him. He wished that he could run some sort of calculation to see how successful he'd be, but there was no way to anticipate her reaction.

Hanks footsteps in the hallways grew loud and Barbara stepped away, before Connor could act on any impulses. He was halfway thankful. Hank's brows pulled together as he eyed them.

"What are you doing?"

"Talking," Barbara answered quickly, but her voice was steady and gave nothing away. Hank stared at them for another beat before shaking his head.

"Did you pick out a movie?" he asked, changing the subject. If he suspected anything, he certainly didn't seem to care, or want to know, for that matter. For this reason, Connor thought he'd keep his feelings to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I have a couple quick updates:
> 
> 1- I meant to actually post this on/around Thanksgiving, but sometimes life comes at you fast. I just got a new job and it's taken some time to adjust to my new hours. Updates maybe more sparse from now on, BUT it doesn't mean I've given up on this story, I promise! Things are finally about to get juicy. I've got some time off with the holidays and hopefully will be able to update a little more regularly. Before posting this story, I spent months trying to write ahead, but haven't had the chance to do it much lately, so I'm pretty much caught up with everything I have stored away, so I'll have to write the chapters from now on. Apparently I suck at planning!
> 
> 2- I hope you like this chapter….I know it's a little cheesy but I'm not out here trying to win any awards and I do think it's time for Connor and Barbara's relationship to progress a little. So hopefully you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think!
> 
> 3- Also, if you're here because of the recent/upcoming PC game release, hello! Welcome to the fandom!


	17. 17 | Collision

**CHAPTER 17 | COLLISION**

**DECEMBER 2, 2038**

**11:16PM**

Barbara was halfway asleep when she heard the knock at her door.

It was faint at first. Her brain, so desperate for any type of social interaction, could have imagined it. But then it came again, with much more confidence.

Every hair on the back of her neck stood up, a volt of electricity running down her spine that shocked her into a state of alert. She wasn't expecting any visitors. The abandoned streets of Detroit were eerie, and though she'd refute the idea if asked, she was scared.

Her mind had been running rampant with scenarios of the horrible things that could happen while she was alone, which only seemed to intensify at night. Sleep escaped her, the only time she found rest was in the wee hours of the morning, just as dawn broke and the sunlight began to trickle through the cracks of her blinds.

Her front door didn't have a peephole, which wasn't a big deal when she'd first signed her lease, but she had come to lament it over the years, and especially now.

It'd be better if she stayed quiet, pretended she wasn't there.

"Barbara? It's Connor," the voice on the other side of the door was muffled, but familiar.

The knot of fear in her stomach released and changed to something else entirely. Relief. Barbara ran her fingers through her tangled hair, tucking it behind her ears, and felt a momentary bout of self-consciousness that surprised her. She wasn't in a state for visitors, but it'd be rude to keep him waiting.

 _Connor._ That was a whole other can of worms. She opened the door.

"Hey," she said, taking in his appearance. "Sorry, I wasn't sure who you were at first," she swallowed hard, realizing that she sounded surprisingly out of breath.

Connor tilted his head and flickered his eyes over her briefly. She probably wouldn't have noticed it had she not grown so used to his mannerisms, but it was an examination of sorts. It'd probably be better she didn't find out exactly what he'd just concluded.

He looked fine, she wasn't sure what else to expect, save for the LED at the side of his temple which was a constantly gold spinning disk. Although she _knew_ he couldn't get cold, he still looked a little out of place in just his tie and dress shirt, snowflakes melting in his hair and drops of water scattered across his cheeks like the smattering of freckles he already had. Barbara chided herself for making such astute observations.

But besides that, there was something a bit manic in his eyes, less distant than they'd been before. Or maybe it was all in her head.

"If I'm intruding, I can leave," he gave her a weak smile. "I understand it's late, and-"

"Please, come in," she murmured, cutting him off. He walked past her wordlessly. It was a little out of character for him to not refute. He stood, looking out of place in her living room as she followed after him.

Sheepishly, she turned down the music from her record player that was playing and turned off the TV. "Sorry," she murmured. "It's a little messy, I wasn't expecting anyone."

"I've disturbed you," his eyes flitted around the room as he took in the records lying out, the cold case files scattered across her kitchen table. "I can leave if-"

"Connor, it's fine, please," she assured him. "Can I get you anything?"

He shook his head no. Obviously. That was a stupid question.

When he continued to stand wordlessly, like he wasn't sure how to move forward, she finally spoke up again. "You can sit down, is everything okay?"

Connor stared at her for a moment, his eyes desperately searching hers for something, though she couldn't be sure what for. "Come sit," she gestured to her couch. "Please."

He did, but rigidly. Afraid to prompt him too extensively, she waited a beat, and was thankful when he finally spoke up. "I meant to call you on my way here, it slipped my mind."

"It's okay," Barbara said.

He stared at the floor, and Barbara gave him the time he needed, suddenly becoming aware of her current state. Since she wasn't exactly expecting guests, she was clad in her pajamas, green flannel shorts and a mismatched sweatshirt emblazoned with the logo of a cafe that used to be down the street from where she lived. She couldn't remember the last time she'd brushed her hair, and she hadn't bothered to put in contacts, so safe to say she was briefly embarrassed about the fact that she probably looked like a mess. Grabbing the crumpled blanket next to her, she settled it over her exposed legs.

"Hank and I got into an argument," Connor finally said. "And I left."

"What happened?" Barbara frowned.

"He was drinking," Connor said. "And I must have irritated him when I suggested he seek professional help for his... _issue_."

"Oh," she said. _That's it?_ She'd heard Hank say some pretty horrible things to Connor when they first began working together, so this reaction came as a surprise. Still, she offered some comfort. "I doubt he'll stay mad, long, Connor. That's quite a sensitive topic for him, he might have just been a little hurt."

Contrary to his words, it had appeared Hank's drinking had been getting better the last few weeks. It was possible a hard day at word could have triggered the behavior again, she doubted it'd be a perfect uphill climb. Barbara wasn't sure whether to press him about it. Instead, she took the time to examine Connor more closely now that he was still, the stray wisp of hair falling onto his forehead.

He looked lost, dejected. Since they'd met, rarely were his emotions so plainly featured across his visage. He'd become deviant, and everything had changed.

"That's not the only reason why I am here," he confessed, looking across the room.

"What's going on?" Barbara asked hesitantly.

"Markus reached out to me..." Connor said. "He wants me to join the council at Jericho."

Barbara blinked, and sniffed. Sitting on the side opposite of his LED, she felt she couldn't quite fully read him, and wasn't sure how to respond.

"Is that a bad thing?" she asked. "I mean, doesn't that say a lot about what Markus thinks of you?" tilting her head, she studied him, and was surprised when he finally gave in and spared her a quick glance.

"It's ridiculous," Connor said, tone sharp, almost angry, but not quite. "As if I would know how to handle such responsibility."

Barbara was slightly sure now where this was going, opening up a door to something that was greater than she was capable of handling. At least she would try. "Why couldn't you?"

His expression was pained. "I've done so many horrible things, and I..." he trailed off, put his head in his hands. She heard him take in a deep, artificial breath. "They don't deserve that. How am I to be respected amongst my own people? My whole purpose was to destroy them. I've taken lives, I've lied, I let CyberLife use me...I was complicit."

His eyes were obscured by his hands, but his jaw clenched and unclenched, clean lines and sharp edges.

"Connor," she murmured, stopping him before he tore himself apart in front of her.

Slowly, he lifted his head from his hands and looked at her reluctantly. His eyes were shining, and it took her a moment to realize what was happening.

"Oh," Barbara said softly. "Don't cry."

He buried his head in his hands again, and she couldn't find the right words for the moment. Closing the distance between them, her hand rose to rest between his shoulders.

"First of all, none of that is true," she began quietly. "Maybe you feel that way, but Markus surely doesn't, and neither do I," Barbara said softly.

Connor didn't answer, and although she wasn't one to fill the silence with conversation, she continued. "So this is what's been bothering you? Hank and I have been so worried."

Turning his head to face her, Connor's eyes still glistened. "I don't know where to start."

Barbara was upset that she hadn't acted sooner when she saw how the guilt was eating him alive. Her stomach dropped just thinking about it.

"You were manipulated, Connor," Barbara said. "Hell, we all were. But what matters is what you can do now. You can't change what's already happened."

Connor's eyes turned back towards the floor, but Barbara was surprised when she felt a weight in her lap, his hand squeezing hers. She stretched her arm across his back and leaned against him, her head on his shoulder. "You don't have to have it all figured out right now," she murmured. "Nobody expects that."

There was a bout of silence, and he was perfectly still the entire time, but she could only imagine what was running through his mind. Brushing her thumb over the back of his hand, she took in careful breaths until he spoke again.

"Does everything always _feel_ like this?" his head turned towards her.

Barbara felt her lips twitch into a smile, slight and sad. "Well everybody's different, but not always, I would hope."

"It's awful," he said, but was relieved when the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. "How do you go on?"

Barbara wasn't sure how to answer that question. She herself had always carried a deep ache inside, the lack of a support system growing up had made her cynical, even angry, for a long time. She'd always wanted to scream at the world, blame it for her problems. It took her awhile to realize she was just sad. "Things always get better with time."

Connor nodded, and Barbara finally released him, resting back against the couch cushions and crossing her legs. "What do I do about Hank?"

Barbara shrugged. "He'll get over it, he just needs space. I mean, you're not the only person who has ever confronted him about his drinking."

Connor's expression shifted back to one of concern, and she decided to change the subject.

"If you'd like, you can stay here tonight," Barbara offered, albeit a little hesitantly. She still wasn't quite sure what to make of her feelings for him. It occurred to her that was a little selfish, since, to her knowledge, he didn't share any feelings for her anyways.

"Are you sure?" Connor asked.

"Of course," she lied. "I was probably going to pull an all-nighter anyways."

Connor frowned. "I wouldn't advise that, lack of sleep can have serious long-term effects on your health - diabetes, heart disease-"

Barbara rolled her eyes and held up her hand. "Please, it's one night. Plus, I read a study once that said pulling all-nighters can be good in moderation."

Connor's LED cycled yellow for a half-turn. "The paper you're referring to has been retracted. You should know, not all published research is accurate."

"You're a lot of fun, I should have you over more often," Barbara flatly.

"And you're incorrigible," he quipped back.

"I'll take it as a compliment," She was relieved to see his shoulders had relaxed slightly and he wasn't as tense. Of course, she was sure his wounds weren't completely healed. Seeing as she wasn't exactly a case study for perfect mental health, she at least hoped he could find peace elsewhere. And she hoped, for his sake, that he would join Markus and the others at Jericho.

Connor appeared to examine her apartment, her expansive vinyl collection that was about 20 years in the making, the case files scattered on the floor. "Is this what you've been working on?" he asked her, kneeling down to examine them. She couldn't hide the smirk on her lips as he seemed to immediately jump into action, lifting a paper, eyes scanning it with intense focus.

"Yep," she said. "Cold case files. I took them from the office before I left….probably not the best ethical decision but it gives me something to do. You'd be more likely to solve them than me."

To her surprise, he frowned and set the paper down, appearing perturbed. "Don't say that, you're so self-deprecating," he observed. "They went cold for a reason. Hundreds of eyes have probably looked over this evidence."

Barbara didn't expect the remark, which vexed her mostly because of its accuracy. Maybe she needed to be less open. It wasn't his intent to offend, so she brushed it aside.

She moved forward so she was sitting next to him again, her eyes trying to follow his as he examined a few more photos and pieces of paper, until she found them wandering to gaze at his profile, her head coming to rest on her chin. It was unintentional, improper, even, but she couldn't stop herself.

"What are you looking at?" he asked seconds before he turned his head to look at her. He was closer than she'd expected, but for some reason, she didn't draw back to put the appropriate space between them.

It was a cliche, but she didn't remember the details of how it happened. What closed the gap between them or who leaned in first. And it didn't come as much of a surprise either, like she thought somehow it would've. It started off gentle, sweet, their lips met with a moment of clumsiness that quickly corrected itself.

But Connor's hand rose to cup her chin, hers to the back of his neck, and it certainly didn't feel like it was his first kiss. Maybe it wasn't, but she didn't really care to think about that in the moment. He was so _good at it,_ It was almost unfair. In mere seconds he had her breathless, the intensity and passion behind every movement of his mouth was sweet torture. He made her feel wanted, his thumb on her cheek, pads of his fingers resting on her neck.

She tilted her head back slightly, angling so she could deepen the kiss, she felt a desire within her stir as his opposite hand settled on her waist and pulled her closer. Powerless against her own desire, she hooked her opposite arm around his neck to regain her balance before wrapping a leg around his hips and settling into his lap.

He seemed pleased by this action, pulling her in with his abundance of strength, calibrated so carefully as to not injure her, until she was pressed fully against him. And he felt good. Warm, not quite as warm as a human, but pleasantly so, inviting. He was so solid, strong... _.real_ beneath her. When his tongue traced her lower lip and his hand on her waist shifted downward, she let out an unexpected moan of content. How was he so _good_ at this?

At some point, after she'd tangled her fingers in his hair and he'd shifted both hands to settle in the curve of her waist, she was hit with a brief but solid wall of clarity. _This...this was wrong_. She wasn't sure why it had taken this long to realize that.

She pulled backwards slightly. Connor stared back at her in surprise. Maybe she was seeing things but his eyes seemed darker, something burning within him, artificial color on his cheeks. It was all she could do not to lean back in and kiss him again but she'd already broken out of the fog.

"I don't know about this," she murmured, and immediately removed herself from the comfort of his embrace. "I think this is a bad idea."

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked her, voice huskier than usual. He sounded wonderfully out of breath, stirred by what they'd just shared. But the concern etched in his features, looking slightly like a lost puppy with his big brown eyes, snapped her out of her reverie.

"No," she shook her head, and scooted away from him, the added distance giving her the clarity she felt she needed. _Quite the opposite._ Her eyes flickered away.

"Then what's the matter?"

"I don't know," she murmured, looking everywhere but his eyes, which she felt would somehow see right through her if she awarded him any contact.

"Is it because I am an an-"

"No," she cut him off quickly and shook her head, a piece of hair falling in her eyes. She knew exactly where Connor was going. "It's nothing to do with that. It's just..." she began, voice low. "Maybe not the best idea right now. "

Connor appeared to consider this a moment, but his eyes never left her face, studying her intently. "I don't understand. I know how I feel about you."

"Listen you might think that," Finally, she met his eyes. "But I don't know if I'm a person you want to get mixed up with like this."

"Are you afraid?" he asked.

 _To answer concisely, yes._ And she had several reasons to be, but none of them really had to do with what he was. What he was experiencing, and what she _was_ would explain it a little better. It'd been a long time since she'd been in any sort of romantic entanglements, and this probably went beyond what she was capable of handling. Which wasn't to say she didn't feel the same. But her logical mind would always prevail, if she knew anything about herself. She averted her eyes again. "I mean, this isn't something I expected."

"I understand," he said, looking slightly disappointed, but he didn't press any further. "I apologize if I've crossed any boundaries."

"No, you didn't," she stole a glance at him, and he gave her a gentle smile. And he deserved a much more honest explanation than what she'd given him, but until she could put into words what she was feeling, this was enough.

Connor cleared his throat, an unnecessary action that made him all the more genuine, his LED spinning yellow briefly, before he turned back to look at the case files like nothing had happened at all. If this was anyone else, she'd probably have left, but there was nowhere for her to go, and the room lacked the tension she'd been expecting.

And, now especially, she wasn't sure of anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I suck for not updating this for so long! The seasonal affective disorder hit harder than usual this winter, and what made it worse was depriving myself of doing the one thing I like - creating! Imagine that.
> 
> Enough about me, but I hope this was timed out okay. I thought these two deserved something! As much as I love mutual pining, I couldn't continue to drag it out any longer. Please let me know what you think, I think it was a long time coming!
> 
> As always, come talk to me on [tumblr](https://from-the-clouds.tumblr.com) , or check out the [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLvB0pQ_9KkzKIWFSUZ42ZOK7dSM68UcIg) I made for this series. I'll be updating it with new tunes in the coming weeks!


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